Actions Speak Louder 1
by teal-lover
Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?
1. Chapter 1

Actions speak louder

Chapter 1

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

AN: for the very few people who know of my other work, I'm serious when I say that I'm not abandoning it—I just have so much left to work on before it's finished, and this just popped into my head in the middle of the night. It was begging to be told :)

Also, I'm ignoring the phone call that Sam got from his dad at the end of Asylum because this takes place about a week later.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Finally deciding that there was no amount of sleep that would ease his conscience, Sam had wandered over to the chair in the middle of the motel room. For the past few nights, he hadn't been able to convince his body to shut down and offer him the blessed freedom of unconsciousness, despite how worn out he felt. He listened to his brother sleeping in the bed closest to the door and wondered how the older man had done it. Dean had managed to sleep through his own ragged breathing and painful gasps that plagued him even while unconscious.

Sam had been unable to tear his gaze from the gentle rising and falling of his brother's chest. The hypnotic motion calmed and reassured him that Dean in fact, still breathed. No thanks to him after the damage that he himself had caused. It had taken Dean well over an hour to clean and dress the wounds from where the rock salt had blasted through his tee shirt, stubbornly refusing any help from Sam in the process. He shouldn't have insisted that they talk about it, because now it was only made worse by his persistent apologies. 

As soon as he was done, a glare in the younger brother's direction silenced any word hanging on the tip of his tongue, and he crawled into bed foregoing their customary 'good night' biddings.

And things had only gotten worse in the past few days. Dean virtually ignored him and spoke only the barest of words, and then, only when absolutely necessary. Sam's heart sank a little more each day with Dean treating him like a total stranger instead of the brother that used to laugh and tease him affectionately. But then again, perhaps he was like a total stranger to his brother. Dean didn't know how he felt at all, thought that his little brother really hated and resented him. The damage he had done in one afternoon in the asylum was far worse than anything physical he could have done to his only sibling.

Though the words Sam had hurled at the older Winchester were said after being influenced by the evil spirit doctor, he had meant them. At least, the most hurtful ones. They were his words, projected from his own thoughts that he normally kept locked away--safeguarded from his older brother to spare his feelings. But they were usually only passing thoughts of irritation. And now they were the reason why Sam now found himself restlessly staring at Dean, willing him to wake up and forgive him—to understand why he meant those cruel things that he said and did back in the asylum. To understand why he would ever think of killing his only brother.

Sam had said that he was sick of following Dean's orders while he acted out of some desperate need to be a good little soldier, _and he was_. Dean's propensity to blindly follow their fathers orders was going to get him killed, and Sam couldn't stand the thought of that. John Winchester didn't seem to care about his children, always sending them anonymous coordinates that lead them into one deadly situation after another. And he didn't seem to care that each time, he had almost lost one or both of his only family in his never ending war against the supernatural.

Dean had meant the world to Sam. He had protected and raised him for his entire life, never once abandoning him to the hunt as their own father did time and time again. Dean had been the one to chase away the nightmares and tuck him into bed when their father left for days at a time. It was Dean he had looked up to and followed around trying to be like his big brother. Until he finally realized that he was nothing like Dean.

Sam knew that he wasn't, and never would be, as good at the hunt as his older brother. And the way that he could charm just about anything out of anyone, was never a skill that Sam had been able to master. He would never have the confidence to pull it off like Dean had. But he also knew that those facts bothered him, because he tried so hard. This lifestyle was made for Dean, but for Sam, it was the only thing he couldn't do perfectly. So yes, he envied Dean a little, which is where many of those harsh thoughts came from when Ellicott forced them to the surface. But certainly not enough to want to kill him. That was something else entirely. Because as much as Sam was sometimes annoyed with his only sibling, he didn't think he'd ever survive a lifetime without him.

This constant danger looming over their heads, threatening to steal his brother's life from him, terrified Sam more than anything they had ever faced in their lives. Every evil that set Dean hell bent on destroying it, was just as determined to return the favor, which was something he just couldn't live with. Sam had prayed almost daily that if Dean were to die on a hunt, he would soon follow. And in passing thoughts during moments of weakness, he even considered taking the easy way out to spare himself the pain of loosing Dean to some horrible and grisly fate. All he would need were two bullets. One for Dean. And one for himself.

Only Ellicott had picked up on that fleeting thought and tried to make it a reality, and in doing so, had driven a wedge between the two brothers that may never be able to be removed.

Sam curled up in a tighter ball, allowing the tears to flow freely as he stared at the figure on the bed. He loved his brother more than life itself, but he had no idea how to tell him. Thanks to Sam's new gift, he knew he was running out of time to do it. He had to try, for both of their sakes, and fast. The foreboding feelings that circled the two like a vulture forced the strained whisper from his lips, "Dean?"

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

Actions speak louder

Chapter 2

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

"Dean?"

Instantly alert, Dean bolted up in his bed, reaching for the knife he kept under his pillow. He expected to see some evil creature clawing its way into their motel room with the way his brother persistently and frantically called his name. Instead, he saw nothing but the younger man curled up into an impossibly tiny ball on one of the chairs. His instincts immediately told him that something was wrong, and he moved for an instant wanting to go to him. It was an ingrained behavior that he would just have to learn to quell. His expression hardened and he flopped onto the pillow and grumbled out, "What?"

"I need to talk to you."

Rolling his eyes, Dean spared a glance at the clock between their beds. The red glow read 15 minutes to 4am and he resisted the urge to yank it out of the wall and hurl it at the younger man. He rolled over instead. "Well that's too bad, because I don't _need_ to talk to you."

"Dean, please. I have to tell you something—it's important!"

"There's nothing you have to say that I either _need _or _want _ to hear. You've said all you needed to say and you've made it pretty clear on those thoughts."

"No, I haven't Dean. That's why you have to listen—I need you to understand—"

"I understand perfectly Sam. You resent me. Probably even hate the fact that I'm still alive and Jessica's not. You hate me for being a part of this miserable life you lead, I get it, Sam. And I bet you'd love if you could get rid of me so you could go back to your nice little _normal _ life."

Sam was shaking his head adamantly, "No, none of that's true, you've got it all wrong, Dean--"

Nostrils flaring angrily, Dean fired back, "BULLSHIT SAM! Ellicott didn't plant those thoughts in your head, he just prevented you from hiding them anymore. He wasn't possessing you to make you pull that trigger either. That was ALL you Sammy Boy. So I'll tell you what. _Here_!" He grabbed the pillow from his bed and threw it as hard as he could at his brothers head. "Since I know you're just itching to get rid of me, you can use that to smother me in my sleep!"

Sam had caught the pillow and now dropped it faster than if it had been a hot frying pan. "I don't want to kill you."

"Then quit your bitchin' and go back to sleep!"

"Dean—"

"Sam, I _swear _if you say One. More. Freakin' word, I'm taking what little bit of money we have left and getting a room of my own…"

Dean laid back down with an angry grunt and covered his head with the blanket to drown out the muffled sniffling of his little brother. He drifted off into a restless slumber, hoping that in a few hours, the younger Winchester would calm down and they could pretend that none of this ever happened.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

When he awoke a few hours later, he noted that Sam was dressed and ready to go, without any of the usual prodding and threatening for him to get a move on. His younger brother sat on the edge of the bed, absently tracing the flowery pattern of the comforter with his fingers. He looked like a lost puppy and Dean had to resist the urge to march over there and shake him so that he wouldn't feel so bad about yelling at him. But damn it! He was the one was shot, so why should he be the one to feel like the bad guy here! _Oh well, _he thought in irritation, _at least the crying had stopped_.

Dean was determined not to let him have his way and break down and let him _talk_, so he threw the blankets away and tossed his legs over the bed before striding into the bathroom purposefully. He felt refreshed after a long hot shower and emerged in a slightly better mood.

Sam was no longer sitting on the bed restlessly. One quick glance at the clock told Dean that they only had a few minutes before check out time and he had probably gone to turn in their key to avoid paying for another night. Dean was usually the one to do that since Sam always tended to take longer rising. The nightmares often kept Sam from getting more than a few hours sleep and he was therefore, usually rest broken.

That was one thing Dean had noticed right away upon waking this morning. His brother had obviously not slept at all, probably hadn't in the last few nights either. The circles under his eyes darkened so deep that they couldn't have even been hidden under Tammy Faye Baker's makeup. And that made Dean feel slightly guilty for it. After all, he was the big brother—it was always his job to look out for the younger Winchester. But he couldn't seem to get past the hurt, anger and disappointment he felt after his own flesh and blood tried to kill him. The very boy that he had practically raised by himself.

He knew he would have to get over his feelings eventually if they were ever to become a good hunting team again. His dad had told him years ago that anger amongst hunters was a liability—a death trap waiting to happen. _Yeah right, _he snorted derisively. That's why Sam and the old man fought constantly like an old married couple since the time he hit puberty.

But Dean was going to try and take his father's advice now. That's why he hadn't picked up any new jobs in the past week, not just to let his body heal, but to allow them both time to get back on track. He had even surprised himself when he left a voice mail for his father telling him to leave him and Sam alone for a least a couple of weeks. No mysterious phone calls or hang-ups in the middle of the night, and no coordinates to follow. His own voice mail was set to inform people that he was unavailable and to contact, he thought with mild amusement, John Winchester.

Dean sighed heavily as he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed out to the impala. _Maybe when we get to the next motel._

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

The trip would have been silent as the black Impala pounded its engine down the long stretch of highway if Metallica hadn't been blaring through its speakers.

They'd been driving for hours and Sam had yet to say another word while he absently stared out of his window. But Dean knew he wasn't just taking in the scenery. The way Sam's mouth moved ever so slightly told his brother that he was rehearsing something in his mind. Dean suppressed a grin at the thought, _probably the upcoming 'chick-flick' moment he was dying for._ Sam was probably not even aware that he did that now, and has ever since he was a little boy and prepared to soften their father up after whatever trouble he always landed in. The younger of the two had never used the technique on Dean, preferring instead to flash those wide, moss-green eyes with the long lashes that made him look as innocent as the day Dean carried him out the front door of their burning home.

And the older brother, the protector in him, could never resist or deny the boy anything with that look. It was a good thing he didn't do it that often. John used to complain to Dean frequently that 'Little Sammy' had him wrapped around his little finger. Even now, Dean guiltily tried to ignore that look, but he felt his stony facade cracking with every mile marker that whizzed by them on the highway.

The very idea that Sam now resorted to his rehearsal technique usually reserved for their hard-assed marine disciplined father, suggested that things had indeed gone too far.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Hours later, Dean's stomach began to growl louder than the Impala's engine and he suddenly remembered that they hadn't eaten anything since the night prior. Before he could suggest food, they passed a sign signaling a rest stop up ahead with a convenience store. "Cool," he mumbled. He could find fuel for himself and his 'baby' in one convenient pit stop.

Dean pulled into the parking lot next to the pump. Sam was out of the car practically before it even came to a full stop, stretching his long legs after hours of discomfort and cramping.

Grabbing his wallet from his back pocket, Dean pulled out money and handed it to his brother. "Twenty for gas. And you know what I want," he said with a slight grin.

Sam nodded eagerly at what he perceived as a momentary truce—at least Dean was speaking to—not yelling at—him. "Sure. Snickers bar coming right up."

"Sam…" Dean warned despite knowing that his brother was just teasing.

"I know, I know. Peanut M&M's. I'll be right back."

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Twenty minutes later, Dean was leaning up against the car with his legs and arms crossed. He flipped his wrist over to check the time on his watch again and snorted to himself. "I don't care how much of a deserted, hick-town this place is, how long could it _possibly _take to pay for gas and a pack of M&M's?"

He stormed over to the entrance fully prepared to read his kid brother the riot act, "Sa-amm! Let's go man!"

Yanking open the door, he scanned the little market and quickly assessed what had taken the younger Winchester so long.

Sam stood a little to the left of the door, his hands raised, while an extremely nervous teenaged robber pointed a small caliber weapon back and forth between him and the clerk. The teen probably thought he could get the money quickly and be in and out before anyone would even notice in the isolated little store.

Sam's sudden appearance must have spooked the kid.

But it was Dean's sudden appearance and yelling that startled him into loosing his shaky grip on the trigger as he pointed at the newest intruder.

TBC…

Thanks for reading & reviewing :)

So what did you think? It's my first Supernatural fic, so the first time is always the most nerve wracking.


	3. Chapter 3

Actions speak louder

Chapter 3

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Last time… 

_Sam stood a little to the left of the door, his hands raised, while an extremely nervous teenaged robber pointed a small caliber weapon back and forth between him and the clerk. The teen probably thought he could get the money quickly and be in and out before anyone would even notice in the isolated little store. _

_Sam's sudden appearance must have spooked the kid. _

_But it was Dean's sudden appearance and yelling that startled him into loosing his shaky grip on the trigger as he pointed at the newest intruder. _

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Dean shifted to his right, but even as he did so, he knew it wouldn't be enough to avoid being hit. Hopefully, he thought, just enough to prevent a fatal injury. If he ducked, he'd probably get it in the head. Too far to the left, and the angle he had been standing at would probably force it too close to his heart. He made a split second decision and hoped it would be the right one.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as Dean realized that he wasn't the only one to make a split second decision. Sam had moved even before they heard the pop of the gun shot as if he knew what was going to happen. His long legs and lengthy strides gave him an advantage over Dean, and he used it to propel himself in front of his older brother, hoping for a tackle that would send Dean completely out of harms way.

Sam landed on top of Dean when they skidded across the floor, a jumbled mass of arms and legs before Dean finally rolled them both a bit and he banged his head against one of the shelves. He looked up in time to see the teenager jumping over them both and bolting out the front door. He was tempted to run after him, but the wave of dizziness that hit when he lifted his head drove that thought from his mind.

Dean couldn't believe that as tired as he was, his brother still had the presence of mind to react quickly in a potentially dangerous situation. He grinned as Sam lifted his head to meet his eyes. "Damn Sam, with that tackle, you could've gone pro."

"Nah. Hate football. Basketball, I think," Sam retorted softly.

Dean stared at him seriously. As a hunter, Dean had come to terms with the idea of being hurt or killed by some supernaturally evil force. And the thought that he had very nearly been taken out by some stupid punk kid that was probably just looking for spending money, had really shocked him. But even more so after what happened at the asylum, his brother's actions puzzled him. "Why Sam?"

"Because..." he answered with a goofy grin and spread his arms on either side of Dean's head and attempted to push himself up, only succeeding in falling back down moments later with a winded grunt.

Ignoring the heavy weight of his brothers body on top of his, Dean furrowed his brow worriedly and lifted Sam's head up. Looking into his little brother's face made his blood suddenly run cold. Sam's eyes were glassy and quickly becoming unfocussed. With a small hiccup, a steady stream of blood trickled out of his mouth.

Dean wrapped his arms around him, his fingers frantically searching for the wound he was hoping he wouldn't find. His hands came away wet and sticky and he held it away from him as if it were diseased. He scrambled out from underneath the taller man laying limply in his arms.

His eyes darted around frantically and he looked up to see the clerk's outstretched hand offering him a towel to apply pressure to slow the bleeding. Only now did Dean hear the sirens of the police and ambulance that tore into the parking lot. The clerk explained offhandedly, "I called as soon as the kid took off. Looked like your friend was going to need it. Don't worry, I know my little town probably looks like some backwater outpost, but the hospital's not far from here, and it's a regional trauma center too. They'll take good care of him."

Dean barely heard a word of what was being said or done over the next few minutes. The tears blurred his vision and the blood rushing around in his head pounded far too loudly to think clearly. He functioned on autopilot, running along side of the gurney as the paramedics loaded his brother into the ambulance.

When he tried to climb in, one of them stopped him. All traces of the cocky, confident, and swaggering Dean Winchester was gone. In his place was a brokenly terrified young man who uttered one word desperately. "_Please_?" Reluctantly, a hand was extended to help him climb aboard with a warning to stay out of the way.

When the paramedic hurriedly called out his patients stats to his partner relaying them to the hospital, Dean vaguely listened in a daze. They were loosing him. _He _was loosing him, and suddenly, he felt more lost and alone than he ever felt in his entire life.

He stumbled out of the ambulance on shaky legs while they rushed his little brother into the emergency room. As they fought to hold on to Sam's life, Dean fought to hold on to his own sanity.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Sam sat up, wondering where he was and how he had gotten there as he looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. He began to recall the mini-market and guessed that he had been shot. He reached around to his upper back but felt no hole, no blood seeping through his fingers, and no pain. In fact, he felt nothing but a peace he couldn't recall ever feeling in his entire life.

And now he understood where he was...

It didn't surprise Sam at all after the terrifying dream he had had about Dean dying. It had been vague, and the only thing he had seen clearly was the doctor coming out in bloody scrubs informing him that he was sorry, and that they had done all they could. Sam hadn't known when or where, but the instant that Dean charged into the store, his sixth sense kicked in and he knew what was going to happen if he didn't stop it regardless of the personal consequences.

So he made a decision. And prayed that Dean would understand and someday forgive him for it. He sighed in resignation as he thought about the talk they hadn't had the chance to have, and probably never would now. He missed the opportunity to tell Dean how he really felt. He could only hope that no matter what else he had said and done to Dean in the past few months, one idea would stand out in his mind—actions speak louder than words. _And Sam had said that he would die for him._

"Looks like I did."

"Not yet Sam."

He looked up startled to see the form towering over him, blocking out the light. From the angle he was sitting at, he couldn't see the features bathed in the shadows, only the feminine figure with flowing blonde hair draped around its shoulders. "Jess?" he asked hopefully.

She sat down on her knees smoothing his hair back gently and Sam was able to see her. This time, there was no confusion. He had only remembered seeing her once a few weeks back, and heard her voice through the briefest of words. Before that, he had remembered her only from pictures. Her soft spoken voice was music to his ears, and he cried, thinking he'd never hear it again. "Mom. I thought…"

Mary silenced him by pressing her index finger to his lips, "Shh. Don't worry about me. That was only my earthly spirit. A soul can never be destroyed, only returned to its rightful place. Now I need you to listen to me Sam."

Sam did as she asked, listening intently and absorbing all she knew of the evil that hunted him since birth. And of how things would only get worse before they got better. It seemed like she spoke for a long time before she kissed his forehead suddenly, ending her tale.

"You're going to forget most of what I just told you for a while. But it will come back to you when you need it. You have to remember Sam, and you will. I have faith in you. I'm so proud of you and your brother. And I love you so much. Now you have to go back, Sam. It's not your time yet."

Sam began to panic, "Go back? How the heck do I go back? I don't even know how I got here…"

"Listen to Dean. He's calling you. Follow his voice, baby, and don't let go. He'll guide you home."

He nodded uncertainly as he closed his eyes, praying that he would be able to do just that. His family's lives depended on it.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Dean sat in the waiting room rocking back and forth, muttering repeatedly, 'Please Sam, I'm sorry,' the unspoken words of 'don't leave me' made all to clear. He wasn't sure how much time had gone by, but each time the double doors swooshed open, he looked up with a new wave of fear and nausea. Then the doctors would search out another anxious family member, both alleviating some of his fear—and heightening it at the same time.

He imagined his sandy-blonde hair peppered with newly gray strands with every passing minute. He didn't even want to think about what he would do if Sam didn't make it, couldn't fully wrap his mind around the idea.

_It wasn't supposed to be this way_, he thought bitterly. No matter what had transpired between them, no matter how much Sam hated him, it was still _his _job to protect his baby brother. Not the other way around. _Damn it! What was he thinking! _And the younger man's vague answer of _'because'_ simply wasn't good enough for Dean.

Dean was broken from his reverie by the sound of the doors opening yet again. The young doctor scanned the room, her eyes finally landing on him. He found it interesting that the scrubs they wore always seemed clean despite what they were doing, except this time. Or maybe he was just seeing it for the first time. Dean focused on the tiny drops of smeared blood and instinctively knew that the same blood also ran through his veins. This was his brother's doctor. He raised his eyes to meet hers, almost daring her to look away.

She held his gaze steadily and began to approach him, the saddened look in her eyes telling Dean all he _never _wanted to know.

TBC…

AN: It's not over yet guys :)

Let me know what you think...2 chapters in 2 days, see it makes me write faster & gives me ideas;)


	4. Chapter 4

Actions speak louder

Chapter 4

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Dean watched the doctor approach slowly, and though he knew otherwise, he still hoped that she would bypass him and find some other poor shmuck to deliver her bad news to. But he was after all, a Winchester, and luck was rarely ever on their side. The sharp clicking of her heels stopped directly in front of him, and he allowed himself to be led into a small corner room separate from the rest of the emergency waiting room. _Wasn't that nice of her_, he thought sardonically. She wanted to destroy him privately.

He wondered if the sudden dryness in his mouth, and the leaden legs was how it felt to be an inmate taking that final walk to be executed.

She spoke in a hushed tone, and he found it difficult to concentrate on what she was saying. Her mouth moved, but it was if someone had put the woman on mute. _Hey, that's a good idea. It's not true if I can't hear it. _

She spoke a little more insistently and her voice reluctantly cut through his fog, "Mr. Winchester? Can you hear me?"

_Shit! I have them our real names? 'No insurance, no names' is the phrase that's been drilled into us since before Sammy could talk. Dad's gonna' kill me! That's not such a bad idea. I killed Sammy, so it's only fair._

The doctor touched his shoulder lightly and tried a different approach. "Dean? Did you hear what I said?"

Dean hadn't heard a word she said. But it didn't matter. It was all in her eyes, the windows to the soul. He would have thought they were beautiful if they hadn't been filled with such devastation. He jerked his head around, the lie automatically dripping from his tongue. "Yeah. You said Sam's gone. I killed him."

"I'm sorry about your brother, Dean. We did everything we could. But _you _didn't kill him and it's not your fault. From what I heard from the police and witness, your brother saved your life. He's a hero."

His voice dropped an octave, but his monotonous tone made it clear that he was already withdrawing. "Like I said, Doc. I killed him."

"You can't blame yourself for-"

Dean abruptly cut her off in a tone that would brook no further argument. "I've got to make a call, if you'll excuse me." He reached for the courtesy phone in the room, tuning her out and willing her to leave him in peace. He actually snorted at that thought. _How could he ever find peace again?_

He dialed the familiar numbers when he heard the soft click of the door shutting behind her. Dean's heart beat faster as he listened to the pre-recorded message and waited for his chance to speak. Years of practice had made him accustomed to giving short, concise reports to his military-trained father and he had never had any problems doing it. But hearing the tone, he suddenly lost his ability for speech. His breath hitched in his throat before he realized that he had to say something or the machine would take his silence as wasted airspace and hang up on him. "Dad? It's Dean. I uh—I need you to call me back. The number here is uh—321-555-1212. I lost my phone, I think. But then again, I lost a lot of things today…I'm not really sure what I should do. I screwed up, dad, really bad this time. I'm so sorry, dad, I um—"

Dean lifted the receiver and held it against his forehead, hoping the distraction would give him the courage to say what he had avoiding. He inhaled quickly and rushed his words before slamming down the receiver, "I lost Sammy."

Now that that was over, Dean collapsed back into the chair trying to figure out what to do next. His decision was made for him when the door flung open, followed by an anxious nurse panting heavily. It looked as if she had just run a 2-mile marathon.

"Mr. Winchester? Thank goodness you're still here. Please, come with me."

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

_Starview Motel _

Less than an hour away, John Winchester sat at the table of the musty old motel room, straining his eyes against the dark letters on the page. The red pen in his fingers darted across the white space of the margins as he tried to connect the dots. He was getting closer, he could feel it. Or maybe that was just the vibration of his cell phone going off in his pocket. He had missed the call, but the number wasn't familiar, so he ignored it and placed the object on the far side of the table.

He had been getting a lot of calls in the past week, thanks in part, he thought with dismay, to his elder son's twisted sense of ironic humor. While John's voice mail said to call Dean, Dean's voice mail circled back around and said to call John. Apparently his boys had decided to take a vacation. The oldest Winchester actually didn't mind the idea—it was healthy for them, just as long as the two siblings kept moving. That was all that mattered.

A moment later, the phone vibrated again, alerting him that he had a new voice message. He dropped the pen with a huff, rubbing his weary eyes to shake off the fatigue. Perhaps he needed to come at this with a clear head. He decided to listen to the message. John had no intentions of answering the probable call for help, not when _that thing _was still out there. But maybe something in it would jog the impasse in his sleep-deprived brain.

He hit the speaker button, dialed his mailbox, entered his password, and waited. And waited. He was about to hang up until he heard the shaky voice of his oldest child trailing through the tiny speaker. _Was that really him?_ John thought and began to panic. _Dean never sounded like that. _So—_lost_. Not even when he begged him to help when they returned to the old house. _Dean was babbling. _Dean never babbled. It just wasn't a trait that the boy normally possessed. _How could he not know if he lost his phone, _his mind screamed irrationally. _Lost a lot of things? _John moved to the edge of his seat, talking out loud to the message as if he were speaking to his son. "Like what Dean, what did you loose?"

"Come on kid, tell me…you can do it champ…"

John heard silence, and for a moment thought he had lost the connection. Then the shuffling in the background, sniffling, and Dean's muffled voice came back. _"I lost Sammy."_

John nearly found himself hyperventilating and he was glad that he had been sitting down, because he was sure that his legs couldn't hold him right now. He reached out with trembling fingers and tried to dial the number he had just committed to memory. "Damn it, Dean, pick up!"

The phone rang for what seemed like eternity before someone finally answered, but it wasn't Dean. The voice that answered sounded as smooth as honey, but the words she answered with were certainly no comfort to him. "Clearview Memorial Hospital, how can I help you?"

John grabbed his keys and forced himself up, stumbling out of the front door while he demanded, "How do I get there?"

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

Actions speak louder

Chapter 5

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Dean pounded down the hallway after the nurse who refused to explain anything to him, instead throwing furtive and nervous glances in his direction. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to hope that it was all some terrible mistake. He slowed his progress when he spotted the doctor from earlier.

She was holding something, studying it intently and hadn't noticed his presence. On closer inspection, he was able to see the object she held in her hand and he froze in his tracks, his heart sinking dismally once again.

He recognized the surprised, wide-eyed stare of his brother's face on the underside. It was the license that Sam had gotten when he joined the real world and entered Stanford. She was reading the information on the back. The donor information that he had checked off.

Dean shook his head vehemently and yelled at the doctor. "No, no, I can not freakin' believe this! You drag me back here for this? You are not cutting him up! I don't care what that dumb-assed card says."

The woman looked confused for a moment before her eyes widened in shock. She spun around to the nurse with barely controlled rage and hissed, "You didn't tell him?"

"I just thought—"

"No you didn't think. Go back to triage, I'll speak with you later." The doctor angrily dismissed the woman who slunk back down the hallway and out of sight. Turning back to Dean, she put a hand to his shoulder and added quickly, "I'm sorry about that Mr. Winchester. But your brother's alive. He was just taken up to surgery."

Too afraid to believe and get his hopes up again, Dean still shook his head in denial. "What? But the card?"

"No, I was just curious, I've never seen a California drivers license before."

"How is this possible? You told me he was gone. ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU MADE A MISTAKE?"

She backed up as he advanced, the intimidating stature alone was enough to make her nervous, but the fire in his eyes suddenly made her fear him. A few of the orderlies near by rushed to her side prepared to intervene, but she held her hand out to keep them at bay. She hoped that it wouldn't be necessary and spoke in hushed tones. "No, Mr. Winchester. There was _no _mistake. I was there, I worked on him. We had inserted a temporary balloon to expand his collapsed lung and allow him to breath, but we couldn't keep his heart going. There were three doctors—myself included—and two triage nurses in the room when Sam flatlined. At 8:03 pm, he was clinically dead. At that point, there was nothing else we could do, and we called time of death. While I was speaking with you and the nurses were cleaning him up, at approximately 8:07 pm, they noticed the sudden rhythm of the heart monitor."

He blinked back his surprise, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. "I don't believe this…"

"Mr. Winchester, this is also a teaching hospital. Because of that, we record everything that goes on in any operating room. I can show you the tape later, if you like? But right now, I thought you would want to go up and wait for him to get out of surgery?"

Dean could only nod absently, his wheels already spinning on the possibilities as he allowed the doctor to lead him away.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Meanwhile, John Winchester barreled down the deserted highway, pushing his old Chevy pickup into record breaking speeds. _He had been tracking it, so there was just no way for it to have doubled back and gotten a hold of his boys_, he reasoned. But then, _what did happen_, he asked himself thoughtfully. He pounded the steering wheel in anger and frustration, cursing loudly. "Damn it! Sammy, don't you do this to me. To Dean…"

"Why not dad, you've always left me behind."

John's foot locked on the brake causing him to skid off the road, dust kicking up in every direction. The truck's wheels barely managed to keep to the ground as he jerked his head to the passenger seat. He rubbed his eyes, silently praying that the image of his youngest son sitting in the passenger seat with that slightly indignant expression, pursed lips, and clenched fists—was all a hallucination. The product of hours without sleep. He blinked again and the apparition was gone. He paused for a moment to steady his breathing.

More carefully this time, John eased the truck back onto the road, a grim determination setting in. Regardless of the outcome, he was going to be there for his sons.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

John drove up to the emergency room and jumped out of the truck, barely allowing himself time to shut the engine off. He raced up to the counter and addressed the young woman manning the reception counter. "I'm looking for my son."

"Name?"

"Sam."

"Last name?"

John froze for a moment. He had no idea what sort of alias the boys were currently using. Rambling off a list of possibilities just didn't seem like a good idea when this hospital currently held his son's life in their hands.

He pretended as if he missed her question. "He would have come in with his older brother, Dean. Sam's about 6 foot 5, shaggy brown hair, green eyes…"

"Sir—"

"or how about Dean, 6 foot 3, hazel eyes, sandy blonde hair?"

"I just came on shift and I haven't seen them." The woman shook her head and added curtly, "Sir, as I've mentioned—I can't look him up without a last name."

John pounded his fist on the counter, causing her papers to scatter from the vibration. "Damn it! Hasn't this place ever heard of hiring someone with compassion and a brain!"

He knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with her, so he fished around in his wallet, frantically whipping out a picture. Taken a few months after Sam turned 18, the edge-frayed photo was the only one he had of his adult son's together. Clutching the cherished item tightly, he mumbled further obscenities and ran past the receptionist, ignoring her threats to call security if he bypassed the double doors.

Unfortunately for her, John Winchester no longer cared about protocol—his sons were back there somewhere, and someone was damn well going to tell him where!

He accosted everyone he literally bumped into and showed the picture, "Have you seen my sons, Sam--Dean? Sam was brought in here tonight…"

After his run in with the fourth doctor, John felt, rather than saw the security guards moving in to restrain him. His jaw clenched reflexively and he whirled on them like a wild animal backed into a corner. Pocketing the photo, he threw his hands up prepared to fight if necessary. He emitted a warning that came out as a low growl, "I need. To find. My sons. Just tell me where they are…"

He heard the soft clicking of heels before he saw the petite woman sidle up and insert herself protectively between him and the guards. Though with the wild look in his eyes, she wasn't quite sure who she was protecting from who? She gestured for the guards to back up and turned to him, extending her hand politely. "You must be Mr. Winchester?"

To say that John was floored by the use of his surname would be an understatement. If Dean had slipped up and used their real names, then he must have been highly agitated and upset at the time. And the only thing that could ever make Dean loose track of his training and senses, was if Sam was in trouble—deep trouble.

His heart pounded again frantically as he tried to focus on the woman's words. "I'm Dr. Lacie. I just took Dean up to the waiting room on the 3rd floor. Sam's in surgery right now."

"He's alive?"

"Yes, very much so. Sam's a fighter, but he needed a little bit of help. I'm not sure if you are aware of what happened, but Sam was shot. The bullet entered through his back and lodged itself in his left lung, which then collapsed. They're repairing the damage now."

John felt relief wash over himlike a tidal wave and he sagged against the wall, but a secondary thought brought the worry right back again. The doctor looked to be phrasing her words guardedly, and his instincts told him that there was something else she was just not telling him. He asked hesitantly, "But he's going to be ok, right?"

"I won't lie to you, the next few hours will tell. But from what I've seen of your son, I think he's strong enough to fight this."

Something in that sentence nagged at him, but John brushed it aside when she led him up to wait with his oldest.

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When John approached, he expected to find his eldest son bouncing around anxiously or worriedly, or pestering the receptionist in the waiting area every few minutes for updates on his brother. Anytime that one of their hunts went bad in the past and one of his boys was hurt, the other would be out in the waiting room with him doing just that—and driving the oldest Winchester crazy in the process. They were like little Mexican jumping beans that had to be contained in a bottle, and it didn't subside until they knew the other was safe.

That's one thing he admired about his children, they were both highly protective of each other and he could depend on them to watch each other's backs. But even that protectiveness had its limits. Today was proof of that fact.

The closer he came to his eldest son, the more worried he became for him. John took in the boy's haggard appearance while he slumped down in the seat, his head wearily resting on one of his hands. He looked defeated. His normal mischievous glint was gone. The now bloodshot, watery eyes held nothing but a vacant stare, and John eased himself into the chair beside him.

He worried more than ever now because the younger hunter had yet to notice his presence. It wasn't until John placed his hand on the back of his son's head did he finally look up with a hint of surprise. He hadn't seen this look of such devastation and despair since the night they lost Mary, and it broke his heart that he saw it now. He pulled the younger man into his arms, somewhat surprised that he didn't resist as he usually would.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"Why should you be sorry, Dean?"

"Because I got Sammy killed."

John allowed his son to pull back, the guilt clearly weighing on his shoulders. He listened quietly as Dean described the events that lead them here, and he didn't interrupt until he ran out of steam.

"Dean, none of this is your fault—and Sam's not dead. He's alive! He's a fighter, you know that! He wants to live."

"I know that, but I also know that we're Winchesters, and luck like that just doesn't happen to us.

"The doctors believe he'll pull through, Dean. And I believe it to. You have to trust—"

Dean shook his head sadly, his eyes pleading with his father to understand. "You know what I trust? Facts. And the facts are--Sammy's a powerful psychic, even Missouri thought so. She pulled me aside, and do you know what she told me? Evil gravitates toward him because of it. I know it's true, they _always _go for Sam. I mean just last week--and every time he's just a _little bit _vulnerable, they jump on him like they would a dog at a flea circus."

"I don't understand your point, Dean."

The younger Winchester jumped up from his seat, arms shaking with anger as he pointed at his father. "No, Dad, I guess you don't. You haven't been with us since this psychic crap all started. You couldn't possibly understand. They may be in there fixing him up after his little Lazarus impression, but Sammy was dead for four whole minutes, Dad. _FOUR _freakin' minutes!"

John glanced around nervously at the strange looks they were receiving as Dean's voice raised. He stood up and roughly pulled his son into the corner, only just now hearing his words sink in. _Four minutes. _That was a lifetime. He looked into the wide, bright hazel eyes of his son and finally understood the sadness in them that had little to do with guilt.

"How many times have we both seen this, Dad? Somebody comes back to life after some miraculous brush with death, only to turn right around and wreak havoc on everyone's lives around them—because it's _not really them_? Because something jumped at the chance to hitch a ride back to the land of the living."

John hadn't even needed to hear the words spoken, but Dean needed to say them, so he listened.

"Even if those doctors come out and say he's going to be fine--you know as well as I do dad…what are the chances that it's really gonna' be Sam?"

TBC…

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far.


	6. Chapter 6

Actions speak louder

Chapter 6

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

AN: sorry it's been a while, but you know classes and all…so so sorry…

By the way—can't remember if their home town is Lawrence, or Lawrenceville—so I'm going with former since that's the first thing that popped into my mind.

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He couldn't see the quirky little teasing smile that his brother gave him before turning to head into the convenience store. In fact, he couldn't remember any of the more pleasant times with Sam right now. All Dean could focus on now were the ones that he would regret for the rest of his life. He tried to put them out of his mind, yet they just came rushing back at him like a boomerang, hooking him with the image of those red-rimmed, pleading green eyes. It came back to those dimpled cheeks that when he smiled, gave Sam the picture of boyish innocence, but when he cried—only made Dean want to gather him up in that pale blue receiving blanket and protect him from all the bad things in the world. Just like he did when Sammy was a baby.

He could still hear the desperation in the wavering voice as he begged him to listen. _"Dean, please. I have to tell you something—it's important!" _He could still hear his own biting retort, and feel the perverse pleasure at the wounded look they had produced. _"There's nothing you have to say that I either need or want to hear. You've said all you needed to say and you've made it pretty clear on those thoughts."_

Dean figured that he would let Sam stew for a while before he officially forgave him, before he himself could get over the feelings of betrayal. There would be time to reconcile later. There's always time. Only now, maybe there wasn't.

Everyone else had left the waiting room with good news of their loved ones, but could the Winchesters find the same relief? He stared up at the wall across from him, watching the clock pass the hour hand for the 2nd time. Or was it the 4th? He wasn't sure, but he felt as if it were far too long to be left alone with his depressing thoughts. His father had been quiet the entire time since he told him what they could be waiting for.

Now the silence was too much for Dean to bear. The bland and flat tone of his voice cut through the eerie atmosphere, and for a moment, Dean wondered if he spoke to the only family he had left. "Sam knew something bad was going to happen."

John was caught up in own thoughts, barely listening to the soft spoken voice of his oldest. He did his best to offer comfort, but knew he was falling short when the gruff tone tumbled out of his mouth. "Dean, this isn't your fault."

The younger Winchester raised his voice seeing that they were alone in the waiting room. He glared at his father with a hint of madness. "How can you say that? Weren't you listening? Because I sure as hell wasn't! He tried to tell me—WARN ME! And I. Didn't. Freakin'. LISTEN! I was too damned concerned with showing how pissed I was at him. Sulking like a big baby instead of acting like a big brother—now you tell me, how is this _not _my fault! You don't even know why I was being a stubborn jackass, dad."

John didn't know why listening to his son berating himself surprised him, but it did. He had made Dean responsible for Sam since the moment he thrust an infant into his tiny arms. It was only natural that Dean would feel like the cause of every bad thing that ever came Sammy's way. The kid even blamed himself when Sam lost his first baby tooth—thinking that he had somehow been lax with making sure his little brother brushed his teeth properly.

John actually did know exactly what had transpired at the Roosevelt Asylum. _Sam's possession_, to put it loosely, terrifying to say the least, was something he had feared for 22 years had come to head. Thankfully, it wasn't enough to undo his family and was reversible. He had even thought the boys were dealing with it as well as could be expected. He frowned, searching his mind for a way to ease his son's mind.

He didn't want to tip his hand, but he always knew what his sons were up to. It was his job to know. _Not knowing _would certainly get his children killed. John Winchester always had the inside information on his only remaining family. And they were the ones who gave it to him, unwittingly, of course. It's why he paid for their cell phones and refused to accept a change—even while Sam was away at Stanford. He needed a reliable contact number to reach them at. His _source _needed a reliable contact number.

The boys never understood the purpose of what they believed to be prank calls, but he and Missouri did. She barely needed a minute to read their thoughts even through the airwaves. Of course, John would never tell his sons about his blatant disregard for their privacy—but it was a necessary element in their hectic lives. It would be difficult if they ever found out, but it was something that he would never apologize for.

Though he knew the answer already, he feigned innocence. "What happened Dean?" He listened thoughtfully, nodding at carefully timed intervals, and watched as his oldest son finished his explanation and expected his father to place as much blame on him as he did to himself.

_Well that's not gonna' happen_, John thought wryly and changed tactics. "Did I tell my ten-year-old son how disappointed and angry I was with him when he took his six-year-old brother to fight a water sprite--that almost drowned them both?"

Hazel eyes blinked in confusion at the out-of-the-blue question and Dean found himself mumbling a response before looking away. "Um hmm."

John let the barely audible sound slide for the moment, "And have I told him the _very_ _few_ other times when I felt he did something stupid enough to get his little brother hurt?"

"Um hmm."

He wasn't letting it go this time. Dean didn't respond to coddling, only disciplined and direct confrontations with his father. He snaked his hand out quickly and grabbed his chin tightly, forcing the young man to stare into his eyes. "Excuse me?" he demanded roughly.

Dean blinked slowly, before snapping out crisply, "Yes Sir!"

"Then why would you think I wouldn't tell you this time if I thought you screwed up, Dean? This was nothing more than a stupid run of bad luck, son. I don't blame you for being pissed. Anyone would have. Even if you hadn't been fighting, this probably still would have happened and you'd just be looking for another reason to blame yourself. But you can't. I won't allow it."

Dean wished he could look away from the intensity of his father's gaze, but his hand held him firmly in place. He wanted to fault John's logic, but he still found unwavering faith in the knowledge that his father was rarely ever wrong. More still, he just given him an order, and one that would help him ease his conscience. But he couldn't accept it completely, not until he heard it from his baby brother. And if Sam was truly gone, than Dean would simply carry the lingering guilt around for the rest of his hopefully short life.

John recognized the point when Dean accepted his argument, at least partly. The blonde's shoulders eased back a bit and he swallowed reflexively. But the taut muscles in his jaw told John that Sam was the only one that could force him to accept it completely, and he understood that.

Hoping to ease some of the tension, John did something he rarely ever did—he joked with his oldest son knowing that it is exactly what Sam would do right now. "The world doesn't end because you fight with your family, Dean. If it did, your brother and I would have brought it to a halt years ago."

Dean snorted as his lips curled slightly in recognition of his father's efforts. But the nagging feeling in the back of his mind would not let him ignore the possibilities any longer. "What if it's not him dad? What then?"

As the doors burst open, John stood up anxiously, breathing a sigh of relief at having been saved from answering his son.

A new doctor met them half way, his expression pleasantly hopeful. "Mr. Winchester? Your son came out of surgery just fine. He's in recovery right now, but we'll be moving up to ICU in a little bit because I'd like to keep an eye on him personally. Now, we don't normally allow this, but Dr. Lacie mentioned what a difficult time you've all had, so if you'd like to come up and sit with him, I'll make sure to let the staff know it's ok."

Both men nodded slightly, waiting patiently for the opportunity that would make or break their tiny family. Dean hesitated before he took another step. He wasn't sure after all if he wanted to find out who—_or what_—was on the other side of the door.

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_Lawrence Kansas…_

Missouri Mosley was finally enjoying a nice relaxing afternoon. The past week had certainly been tiring for the psychic, especially after having read those Winchester boys and seen the trauma that they had been through in that asylum. It was definitely going to take them awhile to get over _that one_.

She shook her head and sighed loudly, bending over to blow on the cup of steaming hot tea. She froze when her breath suddenly chilled in front her, swirling over the cup that suddenly felt cool to the touch.

She set it down quickly, darting her brown eyes around the room suspiciously. She knew that feeling, and it always meant that a spirit had entered the room. Slamming her palms down on the table, she called out in her soft spoken but demanding voice, "I know you're here, you don't fool me. Who are you and what do you want?"

Missouri was expecting something to reveal itself in some misty, partially invisible form. What she wasn't expecting was the phone to ring at that very moment and she nearly jumped out of her skin. The air suddenly warmed and she felt as if she were alone again.

_"I hate when that happens"_, she mumbled to herself.

Looking up, she noted that the phone had yet to stop ringing. She yanked it to her ear roughly, "Hello?"

"_Help him_…" the faint feminine voice answered.

The chill was back, only now it seemed to be coming through the ear piece of the phone. She couldn't get a clear reading off the voice, because she knew that the voice wasn't human. Not anymore. A rare few words could be spoken in communication like this, so Missouri wasn't sure how to do what it asked.

But one thing was certain—the Winchesters needed her help—again.

TBC…


	7. Chapter 7

Actions speak louder

Chapter 7

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO

John only paused for a moment when he walked in the door to his son's room, but Dean held back, watching in horror at the sight of his baby brother hooked up to so many life saving machines.

The doctor that led them into the room noticed his reaction and spoke quickly, hoping to quell some of the fear. "It's not as bad as it looks," he began as he checked his patients vitals. "Most likely, he _could _breathe on his own right now, but I don't think that's a good idea. We want the ventilator to do the work for him until his lungs are a bit stronger. If he did it on his own, his body would have to work two to three times as hard to keep up, and we don't want to put an further strain on his heart after our earlier scare."

The doctor prattled on about Sam's condition, but Dean found himself unable to focus on anything other than the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator pushing Sam's chest up and down.

"Mr. Winchester? Dean, Right?"

The doctor had apparently called his name several times before he looked up, also noticing his father eyeing him worriedly. "Yeah?"

"I was just going to say that you should try talking to him. He's only sedated right now, so he'll probably hear you. I've found that it helps the patient heal faster when loved ones are near."

John nodded in agreement and moved closer to the bed before looking up at the doctor expectantly.

"Oh, you'd probably like some privacy. I'll just leave you three alone. I'll be back to check on Sam before I finish my shift in a few hours. In the mean time, please feel free to have me paged if there's any change in his condition."

As soon as the door shut, John reached across the bed and stroked what he hoped was still his son's forehead. He hadn't been this close to his baby boy since the night before Sam left for college nearly five years before…

OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO

_August, 2001…_

It was quiet in the Winchester household as they finished their evening meal.

Sam had lowered his head nervously while he and Dean cleaned away the dishes on the table. He kept fidgeting and looked like he wanted to speak several times before John finally huffed in irritation. "Sam, you've been bouncing around here like a jackrabbit for the last several hours. What's on your mind boy?"

The tall brunette shoved his hands in his pockets, fingering the letter he had stashed there earlier. He had been carrying it around for months now, and the days only seemed to grow closer to the time he was due to report for freshman orientation, and he had yet to say anything to his family. For weeks, he had been rehearsing an eloquent speech that in his mind, would leave his brother and father misty-eyed before they finally pulled him into a group hug and congratulated him.

But rarely is life ever as perfect as in the imagination, and it seemed to hold even truer for the youngest Winchester as he blurted out the blunt facts before he could change his mind. "I got a full scholarship to Stanford and I accepted it."

Dean of course, dropped one of the six plates they owned—two for each man in the household. The oldest Winchester rolled his eyes at his first born, thinking grumpily, '_that's great Dean. Break the other one now too. Sam won't need it_.' Instead of voicing his misguided anger at him, he turned it on the person who needed it more in his opinion. From then on, he hated every word that came out of his mouth that night, but even then, knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were necessary.

"Sam, where's your brother?" he asked calmly.

"What the hell kind of off the wall question is that?" Sam shouted at his father in frustration, then backed down a bit when John suddenly shoved his chair back and stood in his face menacingly. For a moment, he just stared at the man until he realized that he was going to have to answer to get any further with this conversation. "He's right beside me," he huffed.

"Exactly," he spat out bitterly. "I didn't let _him _run off to college, now did I? So what makes you think you're so special that you'd be any different? You think you're so smart. Well I've got news for you Sam, smart don't mean a damn thing when evil finds your family. You're not smart—just selfish and arrogant."

"But dad—"

"No buts Sam! As some of the few who know and believe in true evil, we have a responsibility to eliminate it as much as we can."

"I'll still help you guys whenever I can, Dad. I'm not giving it up permanently—"

John glared at his youngest boy before turning away dismissively. "You're damn right you're not giving it up. Because you're _not going_, and that's final!" He closed his eyes to the stunned, kicked puppy expression his youngest seemed to have perfected into an art form.

It wasn't like the stubborn, temperamental boy to just accept what he said, making the long silence disconcerting. He chanted silently, begging the boy to fight him on this. If he didn't, he would have to take more drastic _physical _methods to get Sam to leave and stand up for himself. _'Damn it! Maybe I controlled them a little too well._'

John trudged away slowly, ignoring the triumphant look on Dean's face, then he heard it—a tiny whisper as if he was unsure of he words he was saying. "_I'm going, Dad_."

He whirled around, startling both of his sons as he stalked over to Sam, backing him up against the kitchen sink. "Excuse me?" he hissed.

Sam gulped a bit nervously and repeated again, this time with a little more conviction. "I said I'm going."

"Oh, are you now?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm only your father. Who am I to stop you if you want to abandon your family."

Sam didn't even try to hide the flash of pain that the words caused as he defended his intentions. "Dad, it's only college. It's not forever."

"Like hell it isn't. You walk out that door, you walk out on your family. Don't you dare think about ever coming back!"

Silent the entire time, Dean couldn't keep the surprised tone out of his voice when he complained in outrage. "DAD!"

"This doesn't concern you Dean."

"But you can't—"

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do in my own home boy! If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it. Otherwise, you keep your mouth shut." He turned back to the other as soon as the blonde pursed his lips complacently.

John poked a finger into his chest, and Sam almost lost his balance and fell in the sink that he had been leaning so far into. "What's it going to be Sam?"

Sam wanted to scream at the unfairness of the situation. This was _not _how he planned for things to go when he finally told them. He knew his father would be angry, but to give him an ultimatum? _How dare he do that to his own son_! In all of his 18 years, Sam had never even thought about hitting his father, until now that is. His chest heaved furiously as the anger built inside of him and he pushed himself off of the sink, raising his voice to the man who raised him louder than he ever had before. "ALL I WANT IS A CHANCE AT A NORMAL LIFE, DAD. WHY DO I HAVE TO CHOOSE?"

Unfazed by the outburst, John glared at his youngest son and answered as calmly as if he were reading from a dictionary. "That's just the way it is, Sam. Now make your choice."

Sam's only answer was to lower his head, wiping away the tears that flooded his eyes before they could tumble down his face. John took the silence to mean that his son still intended to go.

Both relieved and heartbroken at the same time, he turned his back to the youngest Winchester, muttering coldly, "Pack your shit and get the hell out of my house. I'm going hunting & I'll be back by tomorrow afternoon. I want you gone by the time I get back. Dean, let's go."

Before he could turn around and take back everything he said, John quickly climbed inside of the impala and steeled himself for what lie ahead. He began rifling through his wallet, then the glove box, then the seat cushions, and finally, he barked an order for Dean to hand over his own wallet. He pulled out everything save a 20 and counted the wad he had just collected from their various money stashes. "I'll get you this back tomorrow," he said to Dean's confused expression, then handed him the roll of cash. "Listen to me carefully Dean—take this and stow it in his bag—don't let him see you do it. When he leaves, trail him—make sure he gets there ok. Stay far enough back so he doesn't see you."

"You're really going to just let him leave like that? Dad, what's all this about?"

John growled in frustration. "Dean, just do as I ask, please? And don't ask me any more questions. I don't have answers for you." He looked toward the living room window and saw the closed blinds crack open. Pulling the car in reverse, he peeled out of the driveway and out of sight.

Heading around the corner, he threw open the door, somewhat relieved to be leaving the confines of the small space where stony hazel eyes bore down on him harshly. He lowered his head to avoid him as Dean slid into the drivers side. "Go Dean, before he takes off."

Listening to the roar of the Chevy's engine pulling away, he closed his eyes, trying to convince himself that it was the cold of the night air making his eyes tear up. "I'm sorry boys," he whispered to himself as he turned in the opposite direction and headed for the nearest bar. He hadn't touched alcohol in years, but tonight—he planned on drowning in the stuff.

OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO

Nearly five years later, John found himself whispering the same apology as he stared at the far too skinny chest rising and falling with mechanical precision. He waited for Dean to move in closer before he leaned down to whisper another word to the young man lying in the bed.

The familiar Latin name always sent demons cringing and scrambling to back away from it. Dean held his breath as he listened and watched intently. He knew the best reaction would be none at all, because if something had taken Sam's place, it would try and retreat even if the body it inhabited were unconscious. And if it were as vicious as the one that had inhabited the co-pilot they had run into a few months back, then it would be ten times as dangerous with no human soul waiting in the recesses to reclaim its rightful place.

John brushed the strands of long, dark hair away from the man's ear tenderly before he spoke. No sooner had the words left his mouth that he was thrown backward into the wall by an unseen force.

Dean stood by the foot of the bed in disbelief as Sam's body twitched, his eyes fluttered, and the heart monitor's suddenly beeped wildly in alarm, indicating some sort of distress. He barely even noticed when the doctors and nurses brushed past him to get to their patient.

TBC…

Please read and review:)


	8. Chapter 8

Actions speak louder

Chapter 8

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Two of the nurses chatted as they exited the room, completely unaware of the patient's family standing off to the corner. "…yeah, that is strange—one minute he looks like he's going into cardiac arrest, and the next, he's completely fine." "Well, you know, Dr. Lacie said that _he's _the one that died in the O.R. and came back—_after they were done!" _"That is downright spooky…"

Dean glared after the women discussing his brother so dispassionately. Then a thought occurred to him, _not his brother. _ Sammy was gone, and something more sinister had taken his place. It threw his dad across the room like a rag doll. It went nuts after hearing the sacred name. There was just no other way to explain it. The realization suddenly made him feel as if someone had just shoved a serrated blade through his chest, then twisted to ensure a fatal blow.

He looked to his father sagging against the wall where he struggled to get back to his feet. For the first time in years, he watched his normally stoic father sobbing into his hands. The only time he could even remember the man ever looking so broken and lost was when he was four years old. John had sat him down in the backseat of their car—the only possession they now owned while the firefighters fought to give them back their home. Swinging his legs over the side, he listened with rapt attention when he crouched down telling him that mommy was gone and wasn't coming back.

A four year old shouldn't understand death, but Dean did. Seeing his mother plastered to the ceiling with blood and flames engulfing her body made sure of that. He hadn't cried then as his father struggled to find his voice through the broken sobs, only clutched the tiny bundle in blue to his chest tighter. He had promised silently that he would always keep his baby brother safe. And his father would never have to cry like that again.

But now the evidence of his failure was lying in the bed directly in front of him, and he turned away and tried to ignore it. Instead of finding solace in the action, he was met with the older man's despairing features. Dean had never seen his father cry before or since. "Dad?" he called several times before approaching him.

John either hadn't heard, or just ignored the soft spoken voice. He shrugged out of his grasp angrily while his eyes never left the prone figure on the bed. He finally found his voice, surprising even himself when it came out in a strained whisper. "Take a walk, Dean."

"I'm so sorry…"

"My boy is gone, Dean...after everything I've done to protect him—I couldn't save Sammy from some little punk kid deprived of an allowance."

"Dad, just like you told me, it's not your fault."

The older man craned his head around sharply. "That's because Sammy's not your responsibility, Dean. He's mine. Always has been."

Dean watched his old man's features harden stoicly, but it was his eyes that still held a glimmer of pain, then darkened with a grim determination that scared him. Because now he understood why his father wanted him to leave the room. He was going to kill him.

Hazel eyes widened in surprise. "Dad, no, you can't."

"Dean, I don't want you involved. Like I said, this is my responsibility and I'll be damned if I'm gonna' just allow some hitchhiking bastard to walk around wearing my son's body like a cheap suit! Defiling his memory with every murderous action it commits! Ain't gonna' happen. Not to my son."

"Well maybe there's some way we could still get him back," Dean pleaded.

"If that thing could toss a two-hundred pound man across the room like a feather, then imagine the kind of danger we'd be putting everyone around it in if we allow it to wake up. There's no other way, son. Sammy is gone. At least this way—" he hesitated from the lump in his throat, "—at least we'll have a body to bury. Be honest Dean, could you hunt something that not just looked like your brother, but _used to be him_?"

Dean blinked repeatedly at the older man, trying to comprehend the question. A shapeshifter was one thing, but this was an entirely different matter. _This thing, only hours before had been Sam_. He shook his head slowly, before he even realized that he was doing it and mumbled, "I want to stay."

"No Dean. Even though it's not Sam, I don't want this to be your last memory of your brother. Now please, do as I ask?" John didn't give him a chance to protest further as he guided the shell-shocked young man out of the door and shut it behind him with a soft click.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

_Lawrence, Kansas…_

Missouri angrily slammed her kitchen phone down for the fifth time, cursing under her breath that none of the three Winchester men were answering her calls. That fact alone meant trouble. When she plugged in her phone number and _911_ as a call back number, John always dialed her back. And it was rare that at least one of the boys failed to pick up. She shouted up into the air, "Woman, I don't know how to help them if I can't even reach them!"

Standing completely still, the psychic listened for any sign that her message had been received. A moment later, she had her answer when the television set that had been broken for weeks, suddenly roared to life. On the screen was a commercial for one of the small airports nearby.

She sighed grumpily as she grabbed her car keys, "Getting on a plane doesn't help if you don't know where to go…"

Mere seconds later, her cell phone began dialing the speed dial number for Sam, though she hadn't expected to get an answer. She listened despite her misgivings, surprised when a woman picked up. "Who is this?" Missouri demanded immediately.

"I'm sorry, this phone was just ringing off the hook and I couldn't reach it before."

"Who are you, and where is the boy that this phone you've got belongs to?"

"Oh, you must mean Sam Winchester. I'm sorry to tell you this, but he's been in an accident. He's a patient here at Clearview Memorial Hospital, and I'm one of his nurses. Hold on a minute—I think I see his brother up ahead. Do you want me to get him for you?"

With a firm destination in mind, Missouri practically flew out the front door, "Dean? Yes, please hurry—it's imperative that I speak with him."

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Dean wandered down the hallway, trying to figure out what he would do now. Most of his life had been spent looking after and taking care of his little brother. It had always been his purpose. And now, well, now it just didn't feel real. He trudged past the nurses station in a fog, oblivious to the woman calling his name.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

"Sir! Mr. Winchester! DEAN!" The shorter woman ran down the hall chasing after the sandy-haired blonde man. It looked like he was headed for the men's room, so she picked up her pace before he went were she couldn't follow. How had he gotten that far away so fast? Finally reaching him, she spun him around quickly and shoved the phone in his hand while he stared at her questioningly. She murmured breathlessly before walking away, "This fell off your brother in the emergency room. There's a woman on it and she needs to talk to you—it sounded urgent."

He was certainly in no mood to deal with some 'hysterical chick' in need of a little supernatural help. He sucked his teeth, preparing to dismiss the caller before they could explain their problem. "I'm sorry, but I don't have—"

"Dean, listen to me—"

"Missouri?" _Not who he was expecting._

"Yes, it's me. Oh my goodness." The woman covered her mouth in shock as she read his thoughts with that one sentence, suddenly understanding what she was supposed to do. She screeched into the mouthpiece, "BOY! You get your behind back there and stop that crazy fool!"

"What?"

"You have to stop him or he is going to kill your brother!"

Dean frowned and tried to play off the surprise that she was aware of what was going on, until he remembered that she couldn't see his face. "Missouri, I don't know what you're talking about," he added in hopes that she couldn't detect his outright lie through the airwaves.

Wishing he was within arms reach to smack him, she continued instead with her best scolding tone. "Damn it boy! Don't play dumb with a psychic who can read your mind. Now you get your ass back in that room and stop your father from making the biggest mistake of both of your lives."

"Mis-"

"That is _Sam _in there! Not some evil thing waiting to pounce. Trust me on this!"

The color seemed to drain from his face as Dean listened to the urgency in her voice. _If that was really Sam—shit!_ He nearly dropped the phone as he sprinted back down the hall as fast as his shaky legs would carry him, cursing that he hadn't gotten Sam's height that would get him there that much sooner. _Hold on Sammy!_

He didn't remember coming this far from the room. _ Why did everything seem like it was moving in slow motion?_ Out of the corner of his eye, he noted thankfully, that all of the doctors and nurses at the station seemed to be otherwise occupied and hadn't noticed his mad dash.

He skidded to a halt as John emerged from the room, closing the door behind him gently. _If he was coming out…_

"No…" Dean whispered in a panic, shoving his father aside and darting into the room.

The alarms that had brought the team of emergency workers before, had been silenced. The cord from the ventilator 'accidentally' pulled from its socket in the wall. To add to his horror, the ashen figure on the bed seemed even more so now that his chest had ceased rising and falling without the aid of the machine.

TBC…

An: Wow, thank you to each and every one of you who has read and reviewed. They really make my day and I appreciate it—takes away from the stress of homework—that I now have to get back to.

Anyway, I hope this answers all of your questions on whether it's really Sam:) and kudos to all of you out there who guessed. I've already gotten a good part of the next chapter written—not typed—so, I'll update as soon as I get a break from work & classes. Hopefully soon…


	9. Chapter 9

Actions speak louder

Chapter 9

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO _

Dean took in the pale features and ran to the bed. He reached over and hit the nurses call button, ignoring his father's hiss of "Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

Though only seconds later, the nurses weren't moving fast enough in his opinion, so he climbed up on the bed, straddling his brother while he plucked the useless tube from his mouth, lowering his own to it instead. Darting his head up again, he yelled to the nurse who responded, "HELP ME! HE'S NOT BREATHING!" _Come on Sammy, breathe. Come on kid_.

Dean only managed a few shaky breaths and chest compressions before a resident raced in demanding to take over. He barely even noticed himself being dragged out of the room. Just before the door slammed in his face, he looked on in horror as Sam's body arched off the bed in response to the electricity trying to shock his heart into starting again.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO _

_Dean watched his father being led just over the hill, practically stumbling in the chains hooked around his ankles. He was actually surprised that the officers allowed him to attend at all, given the circumstances. _

_The shorter woman tugged on his arm gently and he turned back around, his eyes purposely sweeping over the sight of a few of Sam's college friends gingerly tossing roses down into the hole. _

_Missouri pulled him forward again. It was his turn now. Dean hadn't wanted to go first, and had refused all offerings of the flowers thrust at him. They were all so unlike him. He stared down into the open chasm before removing his leather bracelet, ignoring the expectant and sympathetic stares directed towards him. _

_The black corded leather was meant as a protection and had kept him safe thus far, but he didn't need or want it anymore. _

_His fingers only lingered across the worn material for a few seconds before he opened them, releasing it. When he gave it to his brother one last time, he only hoped letting it go would allow something to find him. _

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO _

Dean breathed in sharply as the same nurse that had given him the phone earlier seemed to be speaking to him now. He shook off the daydream and shuttered silently, praying that Sam was the only Winchester to ever receive prophetic visions.

"…I promise to come and get you as soon as we hear anything, so why don't we go down the hall to the waiting room. Just so that we're not in their way," she offered in gentle, motherly voice. He found himself following her blindly because of it.

Trailing behind his father into the room at the opposite end of the hall, he nodded as she left them alone, instructing them both to stay put. He did his best to avoid John's lethal looking stare as she pulled the door shut with a soft click. He took a few steps back as the taller man approached menacingly. If he hadn't been angry with him before, he certainly was now.

Dean had stared down demons, ghosts, vampires, hell hounds, werewolves, and even lawmen threatening to arrest him—but none had ever made him flinch nervously like the older Winchester did to him now.

For a moment, he thought John was actually going to hit him. Instead, the man only growled in his most commanding, marine-like voice—the one that made him square his shoulders and stand at attention on pure survival instinct.

"Dean!"

"Yes Sir?"

"Do you know what you just did?"

"I hope so, Sir."

"Well then, would you care to explain it to me?"

Gulping down his nervousness, Dean explained calmly. "I did exactly as you've told me before. I was looking out for Sam."

"Dean," he growled in frustration, "We went through this. That _thing—_isn't your brother anymore, and now you've ruined any shot we had of doing this the easy way." John grew angrier as he spoke and fisted his hands on Dean's shirt, practically dragging him up off the ground. "Can you honestly say that you can walk up to something that used to be our Sammy, and put a bullet in its brain? CAN YOU?" he shook him, "_Because I can't_!"

John broke off, the tears clouding his vision again as the fight seemed to have left him. "I can't do that, Dean…" He loosened his grip, then suddenly pulled back. He had never physically accosted one of his sons before, and now that he had, he stared at his hands in disbelief as if they were diseased.

Lowering his hands to his sides, he watched the look of surprise gradually fade from his son's face, but he didn't seem angry, so he continued. "I can't look into those eyes and see anything but my boy. And Mary. He has so much of her in him, did you know that?"

Dean tried to reassure the broken man before him, but he spoke hesitantly. If John reacted so forcefully when he thought it wasn't Sam, how was he going to react when he realized that it was. "Dad, you wont have to. That's _Sammy _in there. _Our _Sammy! She was sure of it. We've got to believe that."

"Dean, what are you talking about?"

He felt around in his pockets, suddenly realizing that he must have dropped the phone back in the room. He was just going to have to press on without his proof. "Missouri. She called Sam's phone and told me that it was Sam in there—not something that had come back instead. But Dad, she sounded so positive, I'm sorry—I couldn't take the chance."

The color seemed to drain from John's face while he shook his head wildly, "No, no. That's not possible. Does she know that it threw me clear across the room? So what? After all the things we've been through, you think Sam has suddenly developed physic powers? In all of his 23 years with not a _single _sign of it? No, it's _simply_ not possible."

Even Dean had to admit that it was far fetched, but he was willing to believe anything if it meant that he would get his brother back. He was saved from having to answer the question by the doctor storming into the waiting room, followed closely by several security guards. He didn't look happy either. In fact, he looked rather angry. But he asked anyway. "Sam?"

"Stable. For now. We almost lost him again. One of you want to tell me what the hell happened back there before I have your asses hauled out of here for attempted murder?"

Dean didn't even need to think twice about the words he uttered in the next few moments. He would always protect his family, and now was no different. Secretly glad that this time, he wasn't dealing with a psychic who could read his mind, the lies tumbled from his mouth faster than his father could ever admit to any wrongdoing. "What are you talking about? I only pulled the tube out because he wasn't breathing. I pushed the call button and the damn nurses were too busy yakking away to do anything about it. What did you expect me to do?"

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the fact that all of the alarms that would have warned us that there was a problem--were switched off."

John breathed a sigh of relief if there was even the slightest possibility that it was really his youngest back in that room.

He soon picked up on his eldest son's train of thought. After all, Dean hadn't learned his poker skills on his own. "I turned them off. You told me to talk to Sam, and I couldn't hear myself talking to him with that infernal racket going on."

The doctor stared at the man incredulously and tried to gauge his mental state. "They were on for a reason! And what about the plug?"

"What plug?" Dean asked innocently.

"The ventilator plug. You know the thing that was breathing for him? It was out of the socket."

"Oh Crap. I tripped on my way out of the door. Fell into some things. I didn't even notice. So I nearly…I mean, my brother—it's my fault?"

The doctor turned to one of the guards, who shrugged in response to his silent question. _Do you believe them? _He wasn't sure himself, but they both looked genuinely distraught and sincere. He supposed it _was _possible since this was one of the older wings. Everything had been poorly designed—sockets near to the ground, and some even a bit loose. But one thing was certain, regardless of whatever their story was, he had no intention of allowing them unguarded access to his patient until he woke up.

TBC…

AN: oh come on, you didn't think I'd really kill Sammy did ya:)

Can I say thank you thank you thank you to everyone who is still reading. And reviewing too—wow, you guys just make my day. Thanks a million.


	10. Chapter 10

Actions speak louder

Chapter 10

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

AN: I'm back! Sorry that I've been missing in action, but I've had a crazy semester and working non-stop. I'm pretty much done for the spring, so I'm catching up—and fully intend on having some fun now…

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Two hours later, Missouri Mosely found herself flagging down a cab just off her flight. All she could do was pray that she wouldn't' be too late and that Dean had been successful. She hadn't heard from him since they'd been disconnected hours earlier after her warning. Oh she knew that Sam was still alive at least. A phantom phone call on her way into the Kansas City airport with instructions to "help him" again, was enough to prove that much to her. And knowing how stubborn John Winchester was, a simple phone call wouldn't be enough to convince him of Sam's identity. And relentless pursuit of the truth would surely lead him down the wrong path again. _No_, she had to do this personally. See Sam in person. _Talk _to him in person.

Missouri climbed into the back seat of the cab, instructing the driver. "Clearview Memorial Hospital, please."

The driver looked up questioningly, raising an eyebrow high enough for her to see it through the rearview mirror. He grinned politely. "That's quite a ways, Mam. It'll cost ya."

"How much?"

"$75."

"$40 is all I have--please, this is life and death."

"75," he said again firmly.

She sighed, thumbing through her purse and lifted out 2 twenty dollar bills and passed them through the small window between the seats. "I'll give you 40 because you and I both knew that's more than fair."

His pleasant demeanor vanished at the perceived slight and he spun in his seat, pointing out the door. "Look lady, 75 or you park it back on the curb!"

She narrowed her eyes as she read his mind again, then held up her cell phone. "Now you look here, James. You'll take me to Clearview Memorial Hospital for not more than 40 dollars or my fingers might just 'accidentally' slip and dial 555-4912 and inform the missus'--Karen I believe is her name--about your _discounted fare _for that hooker last night."

The driver's eyes widened in disbelief. "Who told you--how did you--"

Cutting him off abruptly, Missouri smirked. "Know? I'm psychic."

His cheeks blushed furiously for a moment before his eyes began to glitter excitedly. His pitch rose as he spoke, "Life or death, you say?"

"Yes."

"Keep your money then, Lady. Rides' on me."

She grinned widely, pulling her money back and folding away the bills delicately.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

When they arrived at their destination, Missouri paused before placing her hand on the door handle, knowing exactly what the cab driver was going to do.

He jumped out of the car and threw open her door, extending his hand in a gentlemanly gesture to help her out.

"Laying it on thick", she mumbled under hear breath. He either hadn't heard or ignored her comment as she smiled at him wearily. Having read his mind, she was just waiting for the inevitable question.

"Hey, if you don't mind--how about giving me a heads up on the big lotto tonight? I normally wouldn't ask, but I'm working so hard to put my son through college and that would be such a big help."

_You mean the son that you don't have? _She was tempted to ask. Instead, she smiled pleasantly again and prattled off the first numbers that popped into her head.

He practically leapt for the cab as he turned and gave her a gleeful wave. She could almost see the dollar signs floating over his head before she turned and stalked into the building. Shaking her head absently, she muttered to herself, "Fool. If I could do lottery, I would have had the money to give ya."

Shaking her head absently, she strode up to the front desk authoritatively. "I'm here to see Sam Winchester."

The receptionist frowned, having instantly recognized the name. One of the nurses had given her a heads up on the young an after his bull of a father had come charging past her as if the ER doors had been painted red. His blatant disregard for the rules of this hospital still ticked her off, and she was determined to make someone pay for his arrogance. Struggling to contain her satisfied smirk, she told the woman, "I'm sorry—he's in ICU, but only immediate family are allowed in ICU."

Missouri narrowed her brown eyes and leaned forward with her hand on her hip. She didn't even have to think about the lie that poured from her mouth or the scene she was about to cause. _Dean would be so proud_, she thought even as her voice raised. "Now you listen here—just because I didn't pop that boy out of my womb doesn't mean that all the years I spent wiping the snot form his nose or cleaning up skinned knees or raising him from the ground up—makes me any less of his mother—just because we don't look alike?"

She eyed the woman's flushed cheeks of embarrassment and moved in for the kill, raising her voice even further still. "Child, you have some nerve! Now I don't know what marriage means to you, but when I took my vows, that included accepting the children as my own. And another thing—"

One of the ER doctors heard the commotion and attempted to diffuse the situation since everyone was staring at the two with a mixture of horror and amusement. She sighed before she reached the counter. This was turning out to be a long, exhausting day. Donning her friendliest expression and voice, she asked pleasantly, "Is there a problem I can help with?"

While Missouri answered yes, the receptionist answered a louder no to drown her out. Before the psychic could continue her tirade, the receptionist backtracked. "No, Dr. LaCie. I was just about to tell Mrs. Winchester where to find her step-son, Sam."

Comprehension dawned on the doctor's face and she looked on interestedly, extending her hand in a friendly gesture. "I see. I'm Dr. LaCie—I was the attending physician in the ER when Sam was brought in. Well, my shift is over now and I was wondering how Sam was doing, so why don't I take you up?"

Missouri stood up a little straighter, relieved to finally be seeing the youngest Winchester. Her features relaxed as she took the proffered hand. "Oh, thank you, Dear."

As the older woman did just that, she couldn't resist the temptation to turn and glare at the young woman behind the counter one last time. She chuckled softly to herself while the receptionist squirmed in her seat under the scrutinizing gaze.

When the two woman reached the ward, the doctor paused. "Since it's ICU, only two people are allowed at a bedside, and I know that you're husband and other son are inside. Wait here, and I'll run ahead and let them know that you'd like to see Sam."

She scurried down the hall before the older woman could protest and entered the room. Her gaze fell on the older man as she spoke. "Excuse me, Mr. Winchester? Your wife is here to see Sam, and they're really strict up here about only allowing two visitors at a time."

John's eyes widened in shock, "My WlFE?"

Before another confusing word could be uttered, Missouri brazenly waltzed into the room, throwing her arms around a still stunned Dean. "Oh honey, are you ok?"

"Uh…"

She spun around, her gentle voice raising while she glared at the older man. "And you—John. I know you don't want to hear it this time, but I'm not taking no for an answer. Now we need to pray for Sam, and we need to do it--as a family." She whirled around again to face the doctor. "Please dear, I know you have you rules, but just for a few minutes—we need to let Sam know that _all _of his family are here for him. And prayer—well, isn't that just the best kind of healing that there is?"

Dr. LaCie was about to protest, but the melodic, yet strangely demanding voice, suddenly made her feel as if she didn't stand a chance. She relented at the soft brown eyes that gazed at her imploringly. "Well I guess it couldn't hurt any. Just a few minutes though, please?"

When the woman was out of earshot, Dean couldn't decide who warranted his gaze more—his brother, his father, or his—_stepmother? _He hadn't realized he said the last part out loud until they both looked to him with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Dad? Something you want to tell me?"

Missouri rolled her eyes at the young man. "Oh please Dean. You know the drill with Intensive Care Units. You've certainly all been in them enough. Immediate family only. How else was I supposed to get up here?" She grinned, knowing exactly the moment it dawned on him from the way his eyes lit up mischievously.

John rubbed a hand over his face exhaustedly. "What are you doing here, Missy?"

"Stopping you from making another bone-headed move, that's what."

"You don't have a clue what's going on here or what you've done," he muttered brokenly.

He sounded so despondent, that the psychic actually felt sorry for him, her earlier anger at him dissipating. She softened her tone and explained. "John, you know what my abilities are, I shouldn't have to remind you. So I know everything that you know and more."

He pointed to the bed vehemently, "_THAT, _is _not_ my son, Missouri. You may know what happened, but you didn't see that thing toss me clear across the room like a rag doll. How could Sammy possibly do that?"

She looked at him with all of the impatience of a parent explaining to child in the "why" phase. "Johnny, I have told you before. He's coming into his own. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

The older man gritted his teeth and argued stubbornly, "It threw me the second that I said—"

Missouri cut him off impatiently, "Yes, I know what you said. And what you said wasn't the problem. It was the fact that _you_ said it."

"What?"

"Well, I'd say that Sam has more than a little bit of anger and resentment for you, John Winchester, and rightly so. I mean, the last time you spoke to your own child, you threw the poor boy out of his own home and practically disowned him."

He hissed in frustration, "But I did what I had to do to—," breaking off when he noticed Dean perk up at finally getting an explanation for what happened that night. But back then, he had decided that if he could help it, he was never going to tell either of his boys what really transpired. _It was simply best if they didn't know_, he reasoned. _Safer for them._ "I mean—what does that have to do with anything?"

"Because Sam wasn't reacting to the word you said. Subconsciously, he was reacting to the sound of your voice."

"No," John muttered half heartedly and stared at his son. He was too afraid to get his hopes up. And if she was right, then he had tried to kill his own son—the very child he had sworn to protect so many years ago, and that was just something he wasn't ready to accept. "How do you know that?"

"Because I can read his mind. His thoughts are a scattered mess, but it's mostly still the same scattered impressions and thoughts that I heard when he came to Lawrence a few weeks ago. With him being unconscious, they tend to be more random, but I don't sense any other presence besides Sam."

"No, there's something more than that going on here—how else would you have known to come here?"

Missouri looked to both men standing beside her and gently eased her expression into a comforting smile. "I'm here under orders."

"Whose?" Dean interrupted suspiciously.

"The real Mrs. Winchester, of course."

TBC…

AN: Hope you guys are still there. Please let me know what you think, and I'll certainly try my hardest to get the next chapter typed up for you asap. It's already written too ;)


	11. Chapter 11

Actions speak louder

Chapter 11

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

AN: thank you all so much for the overwhelming response. I'm so glad you guys are still with me, so I'm pressing on. I hope to have the next chapter up by next week. Bug me to get done faster ;) it helps.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

_Last time… _

_Missouri looked to both men standing beside her and gently eased her expression into a comforting smile. "I'm here under orders."_

_"Whose?" Dean interrupted suspiciously. _

_"The real Mrs. Winchester, of course."_

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

"What? But you told me she was gone—that she destroyed herself and the poltergeist to save us!"

Missouri took Dean's accusatory stare and bristling tone in stride. She calmly explained to him, "And that was the truth. Dean, you have to understand—your mother's spirit no longer walks among the living, but that doesn't mean that a spirit as strong as hers—one with as much love as she has for her family—can't communicate with the other side from time to time. It was difficult for her, that's for certain. I was only able to clearly pick up a few words, but she left me no doubt that one of her babies needed my help."

Dean fought hard to keep his eyes from watering, but knew he had failed miserably when Missouri's thumb trailed his cheek gently and wiped it away. After so many years without his mother in his life, he tried, and succeeded in pushing her memory to the back of his mind. He loved her without question, but as time went on, her physical presence had been lost to him as nothing more than an idea, a quest, _a mission_. Even the pain of growing up without her, had faded.

But seeing her again after so many years back in Lawrence was enough to float it all back to the surface. Of how she gave her life to protect their family—to protect Sam. Of how she was completely willing to give her soul to do it again. Now, knowing that Mary was still fighting for her family in the afterlife, she became real to him again.

That knowledge was enough to make him shed all pretenses of the tough guy image he so liked to portray as another drop of water fell. Right now, he guessed that his mind was completely open to the psychic, but at the moment, he didn't care. All that mattered was saving the family that Mary was fighting so hard to protect. He croaked out a question even though he believed he knew the answer. "You're sure?"

"About Sam? Yes, honey. And so was your mother."

That was all the reassurance Dean needed for himself and now felt that he needed to be the one to convince his father. "Dad?"

John was suddenly at a loss for words and couldn't decide what to believe. He dragged his hand through his salt and pepper hair roughly. "Dean, I—" he stopped abruptly to find the shorter woman suddenly by his side and tugging on his arm.

"John, sit down before you fall down," she ordered firmly after noticing his sudden shaky stance, realizing that he had begun to question his son's identity. "Dean, go talk to Sam. Say the same thing that your father said earlier."

Dean nodded and complied immediately, tensing as he waited for the signs of the heart monitor beeping wildly again, or some sort of telekinetic force.

When nothing happened, Dean grinned madly and repeated it again several times, turning the mantra into a tune of an old children's song that he used to sing to his baby brother.

The relief evident on her features, Missouri's mouth soon quirked up into a tiny smile as she shook her head in mock annoyance. "I always knew there was something wrong with your oldest." The lack of response made her turn to him worriedly before finally noticing that he looked nearly as pale as his son lying in the bed. "John?"

"What have I done, Missy?"

"Nothing that can't be _undone. _Sam will be fine, and then you can go back to brooding again as usual."

"I was just so scared that—"

She silenced him with a sharp look. Dean may have appeared to be tuning them out while he yapped away in his brother's ear, obviously hoping to make the younger man stir, but Missouri knew him better than that. He was still well within earshot and if he got even an inkling of what was going on, he'd hold on to it like a dog with a chew toy.

"I know John. But believe me, he'll be fine. You'll see." One raised eyebrow was enough to tell him that the conversation wasn't over. He nodded slightly, about to reply when the new shift doctor appeared in the doorway.

He looked a bit surprised for a moment to see three of them in the room, but brushed it off as the woman anticipated his thoughts.

"Yes, I know only two to a bedside. But we were praying and we always do that as a family."

"Actually, Mrs. Winchester, I'm glad you're all here, because I'd like to discuss Sam's condition with all of you."

"Thank you, but my husband's already told me."

"Uh, no, Mam. I've just come on duty, and I spoke with Dr. Kendal and read over his notes. He hadn't had a chance to go over a few potential complications with him yet."

Both Dean and John's head s shot up worriedly. "What kind of _complications._"

"Well, we're a bit concerned that Sam had gone without oxygen for so long on 2 separate occasions. The first time his heart began beating on it's own, but after 4 minutes. The second time was close to 2 minutes, and we had to resuscitate. Frankly, I'm concerned that 6 minutes without oxygen to the brain could have left permanent brain damage." The doctor paused for effect and let his comment sink in.

Dean piped up first, "When will we know?"

"For certain, not until he wakes up. But I'm a little concerned that his brain waves show no sign of doing that and he's not sedated. There are of course tests we can do in the interim to see how—"

Missouri froze his speech with a harsh glare, then shook her head as she answered firmly. "No."

Both Dean and the doctor looked at the woman in surprise. Only John followed her lead and agreed with her.

The doctor hid his surprise quickly and stared at the woman again. "Pardon me?"

"I only spoke one word with two letters. I thought it was pretty clear. But since it's apparently not, let me help you. Now I'm no psychic, but I don't think it takes one to have seen the gleam in your eyes when you walked in here salivating like a dog eyeing a juicy steak."

He bristled, "Mrs. Winchester, my only concern is for Sam's well being."

"Let me ask you this…This test—it's experimental, isn't it?"

The doctor's eyes widened and he stammered nervously, "Well uh—"

"Uuh huh. That's what I thought. Dangerous too. The answer is still no. And I'm sure both John and Dean will agree with me that you will not be poking around in this child's brain just so you can satisfy your curiosity of what makes him tick. Or add him to your medical journals or whatever else you had planned. Sam will wake up when he's good and ready, and I have faith that will be soon, and he'll be just fine. And you call yourself a doctor. You ought to be ashamed of yourself…"

Dean couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face as he watched the doctor scramble to get out of the room with guilt overlying his reddened features. When they were finally alone again, he turned to the woman, "Do you really think Sam's going to be ok?"

"I do."

"Can I ask you another question?"

"You were going to ask me anyway…"

Quirking his lips up into a tiny smile, he nodded in agreement before turning serious again. Always quick on the verbal draw, he wasn't accustomed to being at a loss for words, but suddenly found himself tongue-tied with a host of confusing thoughts. He finally found the one word that could help as he glanced at his brother's inert form. "Why?"

"Why did he take that bullet for you?" at his nod, she him gently. "I'm surprised you have to ask. He loves you, Dean."

"But barely a week ago, he shot me himself. And if he had real bullets…How could someone want to kill me one minute, then save me the next?"

"Ordinarily, I'd say that you just have that effect on people. Kidding aside, I think that's something he'd rather explain himself."

"if you can read his thoughts, why wont you tell me? If he wakes up-"

"When."

"Ok, _when _he wakes up, he's never going to explain any of this."

"I think you're confusing yourself with your brother. Sam would babble from now until eternity if you'd let him."

Although her tone was gentle and free from accusations, Dean turned away with an abnormal flush to his cheeks. He understood her meaning. If he had been willing to listen when Sam repeatedly tried to explain, Sam wouldn't be lying in that bed unconscious right now.

Normally, Missouri wouldn't intrude on such personal thoughts, but she just couldn't stand by and allow him to beat himself up about something she knew would have happened one way or another. "Dean, listen to me. I can't see the future, but Sam can. If he hadn't pushed you out of the way, I can guarantee you that we would not be having this conversation right now. We would be planning your funeral. Now other than the obvious, that he loves his brother, I can't explain—no—actually, _I won't explain_ Sam's specific reasoning. That's something that he needs to work out with you, and he'd never forgive me for butting in."

Reluctantly, Dean gave up on the subject, but was intent on having the same conversation when his brother woke. Which brought another question to mind. "When do you think he'll wake up?"

"That's up to him. But even as we speak, his thoughts are becoming more and more lucid, so his consciousness is close to the surface. I don't think it will be long. Now, we just wait."

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Days later, Missouri had asked that the two oldest Winchester's go to the cafeteria and get real food to keep up their strength. Until then, they had survived on nothing but bland coffee and all of the nutrition held in a snack machine. _Asked, _she thought with a soft chuckle, may have been too light of a description. More like, _demanded _on threat of getting thumped on the back of their heads by her handbag. She stopped laughing when a word clearly echoed in her mind, drawing her attention back to the bed.

_Dean..._

She inched closer before leaning on the handrail, watching intently for any sign of movement. She knew it would be there, and sure enough, as soon as she picked up his hand, she felt a slight twitch.

"Come on Sammy…" she urged him softly. "Come back to us. You can do it. You know Dean is going to annoy the heck out of all of us until you do."

The mention of his brother's name seemed to stir something in him. Sam's eyelids fluttered, struggling to fight off the haze of a long sleep.

After several long moments, moss green eyes opened and searched around the room for the familiar sounding voice coaxing him awake. When they settled on the shining brown ones, he tried to speak as his last conscious memories flooded back to him. The tube in his throat was painful and unsettling, but even more so, was the lack of his brother's comforting presence. He began to panic, the heart monitors steadily increasing in speed and pitch. If only Missouri was here, then he failed. He hadn't saved Dean.

The sounds drew the attention of the hospital staff who rushed to his bedside. Upon noticing that he was awake, the doctor tried unsuccessfully to calm his patient. He told Missouri, "He's panicking because of the breathing tube. We have to remove it, but we can't do it until he calms down."

She shook her head as she pushed him aside, grabbing Sam's face to force him to look at her. "No, he's not. His brother, Dean, is down in the cafeteria. Would someone go and get him please? Sam, listen to me. Dean is perfectly fine. He's just worried about you. Now you have to calm down, honey, or you're really going to give him something to worry about."

Sam seemed to calm at her words. His breathing slowed and he stared at her, knowing that she could hear him without the need for words. _Dean? He's ok?_

"Yes, Sammy. He's coming right now. Now they're going to take the tube out so that you can breath on your own again. Will you let them do that?"

He squeezed her hand that had dropped to his, following the doctors instructions as they removed the tube from his raw throat. He wasn't sure if he'd ever talk again with as much pain as it left behind.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Down the hallway, Dean raced past the nurses station, leaving his father far behind him. He only slowed when the crowd of hospital staff parted to allow him access to the room. He couldn't help that broad grin that slipped up on him as Sam sat in the bed, staring at him like he hadn't seen him in years. "It's about time you finally woke up, princess."

Sam couldn't talk yet, but his lack of a voice sure hadn't kept him from rolling his eyes at his big brother.

TBC…


	12. Chapter 12

Actions speak louder

Chapter 12

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

AN: this was going to be the last chapter before the epilog, but then Missouri got to talking, and she just demanded a chapter all of her own:)

Anyway, it got too long, and the inevitable chick flick will be in the next chapter—to be posted in a couple of days, and then there will be a sequel.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Missouri stood back laughing silently to herself at the boys typical teasing behavior. She covered her grin when Sam looked to her with mild amusement and asked her wordlessly, '_Is it too late to change my mind?'_

Dean watched the interaction between the two and swallowed another grin. He would have liked to have heard whatever smart comment he was sure his brother made, but decided that it really wasn't important. All that mattered now was that Sam was back! He resisted the urge to let out a big whooping sound, but only because he knew that Sam would never let him live it down. He was just so thrilled that Sam was there—_alive—awake—and annoyed_. The perfect combination if Dean ever saw one.

He wandered over to the bed and watched as Sam's eyes followed him like a hawk. They trailed up and down his body worriedly and Dean realized that Sam was doing the exact same thing that he was currently doing—checking to make sure that the other was alright. He laid a hand on his shoulder, which seemed to ease the younger man and the tension left his body instantly.

Dean felt his own body relax with the contact and he couldn't help the thousand-watt smile he sent Sam's way, easily telling him without words how glad he was to have him back.

Sam returned the gesture until his brother's smile began to change. As soon as it took on that mischievous smirk, he narrowed his eyes and tried to figure out what the older man was up to.

He didn't have to wait long as Dean turned to the doctor, asking innocently while pointing to his brother. "Can it speak?"

Under normal circumstances, Sam would have reached out and punched his big brother in the arm—_hard. _But with his current weakened state, he sighed as he thought he would have to settle for a hardened glare. As luck would have it though, Missouri had no such weakness and demonstrated it when she cuffed Dean on the back of his head. "Dean, don't tease your brother."

Despite the tightness in his chest, Dean's grumbling was enough to elicit an outright laugh from Sam. The laughter soon brought on a coughing fit that had Sam doubling over in pain, spitting out a mouthful of red saliva.

Dean began to panic again when he saw this, but was brushed aside by the doctor before he could question it.

"Don't worry, Sam, this is quite normal. Your throat is extremely irritated, and there is probably some tearing from the breathing tube. It's going to be difficult to talk until that bit of swelling goes down too. All the same, I'd like to take a listen to your lungs to make sure that they're healing properly, and we should also change those bandages." The doctor addressed his patient's '_family'_, "Would you mind waiting outside for a little bit?"

Before the two could protest, Sam grabbed the doctors hand and nodded to his brother before shaking his head adamantly. The doctor sighed at his patient's clear indication that his brother was to stay. The woman however, nodded her understanding and went to stand outside the door.

Sam craned his head as his eyes followed Missouri out of the room. He was curious to find out who she was most definitely fussing at just past the doorway in a hushed whisper. Her finger pointed at the person wildly and he almost felt sorry for whoever was out there getting a verbal tongue lashing from the imposing woman. A nurse began closing the door, but just before it shut, Sam's heart beat wildly as he thought he saw a flash of familiar salt and pepper hair.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Outside, Missouri shook her head and watched the eldest Winchester walk away again. "COWARD!" she called after him, ignoring the hospital staff staring as she did so. The stoic Winchester mask was firmly back in place now that the crisis was over, and he had no intention of allowing anyone else—least of all his children—to see his vulnerability. So he had fled, leaving her to pick up the pieces when she inevitably had to explain to his boys that he had abandoned them again.

_How am I going to explain this one_…

Twenty minutes later, she found that she didn't have to as Dean threw open the door excitedly. His face fell as he realized that his father was no where to be seen. That could only have meant one thing—he was gone, and wasn't coming back. '_Sam won't even have to know', _he thought sadly. He turned slowly, donning the same mask that his father had just worn. "Uh, Sam—I'm sorry about that surprise, man. I was going to try and sneak you in some good food, but it looks like the nurses staff headed it off at the pass. But that's ok, you're on a liquid diet right now anyway."

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

A short time later, fatigue quickly caught up with him and Sam reluctantly settled back down to sleep. His eyes had barely shut for a moment when he suddenly opened them back up and reached for his brother's hand.

Dean's shoulder's stiffened when he looked into Sam's eyes. The intense gaze told him that he remembered what they had been fighting about before he was shot. As much as Dean hated the idea of giving Sam one of his so called, 'chick-flick' moments, he himself wanted—no, _needed—_to understand all of this. He wasn't even sure if he was going to like what he heard. But after nearly loosing his brother, this was just one of those times where he couldn't just let it fade into the background and hope that it would go away.

"I'm sorry," Sam croaked out, or rather—_tried to_, but his voice just didn't seem to want to cooperate.

Sam held that wildly panicked look in his eyes, and Dean understood immediately what it meant. He was afraid that Dean would be angry with him again. "I'm not mad at you, Sam. Well—maybe a little. Get some sleep ok, and I promise—we'll talk about this later. You know kid, when you can actually speak?"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sam closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

For the next three days, Dean carefully avoided any form of in-depth conversation with his brother, even after the doctor had come in and announced him barely fit enough to be released.

Missouri sat in the corner, thoroughly going over Sam's release papers. One line in the directions stood out and made her chuckle. _No driving, _it had instructed while under the heavy dose of painkillers. She thought back to the day before as she returned in the Impala after having retrieved it from the gas station. If she listened closely, she could probably still hear Dean's screech echoing through the hallway, "YOU DROVE MY CAR!"

A loud, indignant snort from him told her that he knew exactly what she was still laughing about. _Who's the mind reader now?_ She mumbled in amusement.

Looking up, she noticed Sam fumbling with the buttons on his shirt as each breath he took seemed to sap the energy from him. Missouri was getting frustrated with the article of clothing and it wasn't even on _her _body. Walking over, she slapped his hand away while she unhooked the crooked ones and fixed them. She sighed loudly to answer the lopsided grin he gave her.

She fixed a pointed look at the elder brother, "You know, I'm not too keen on Sam checking out so soon. He's not fully recovered yet. And you haven't had any rest either."

"I know, but like dad's always said—never stay in one place for too long. We've been here almost a week now."

"You've stayed in places longer than that," she half argued.

"I know, Missouri. But never this long in places where I can't just whip out my gun and shoot things…"

The woman smirked at the childlike disappointment in his voice. She was betting that if he had been standing when he said it, he probably would have scuffed his feet on the floor too. "_Ain't that a shame. _Anyway, boys, I do have to be getting back home."

It was Sam that made the first move and wrapped his arms around the shorter woman. "Thanks for everything. Take care of yourself."

"Oh, you boys are going to drive me to the airport." Since Dean didn't protest anymore than a simple raised eyebrow, she added firmly, "And after you drop me off, the two of you can make your way to my house where you'll be staying until Sam is fully recovered. Lawrence is only a four hour drive from here, so I'll expect you there by nightfall. And I also expect that the two of you work out your differences before you get there. I don't want any fighting in my home."

Once again, Dean was left speechless as the stout little woman steamrolled right over him and flounced back down the hallway. He was still shaking his head in disbelief, pointedly ignoring the cheesy grin plastered on Sam's face when she stopped suddenly.

"Well, what are you waiting for? You already have your invitation."

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Dean roared the engine as Missouri climbed in the passenger front seat, immediately reaching for the dials of his radio. He shook his head incredulously, "Uh uh—"

"Shotgun picks the music—_driver _shuts his cakehole," she retorted with narrowing eyes, daring him to contradict her.

And this time, Sam did laugh.

TBC…


	13. Chapter 13

Actions speak louder

Chapter 13

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

AN: For Dreema Azaleia Wingblade, Angel Baby1, Kaewi, rozzy07, Tyranusfan, SammyJaredfan, Master Li, and Nathy1000000--I hope this impending 'chick flick' moment is what you were looking for ;)

I'm still getting through my replies to all of the lovely reviews, so please be patient with me—I've been typing my little fingers off:)

Thank you to everyone for reading. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

When the three arrived at the airport, Missouri turned her head to the driver's side. "Dean, I'm not exactly a spring chicken any more. Why don't you help me inside?"

Dean understood the pointed look she gave him indicating that she wanted to speak to him privately. "Sam, get up front and make sure I don't get a ticket. I'll be right back."

Taking her elbow, he helped her inside speaking quickly, "Talk fast before Sam gets suspicious."

She nodded and spoke firmly, "Dean, I was serious. I expect to see you there tonight, and no arguing. Your father's orders." Just as he turned to leave, she grabbed his arm and lowered her voice softly. "And another thing, just hear him out, sweetie. I know you're still hurt by what happened a few weeks ago, but I guarantee if you do, a lot of that pain will go away."

He nodded wordlessly before hurrying back out to the car. Hopping in quickly, Dean noted that Sam had made his way to the front seat and now stared out the window nervously.

They had driven for only about 20 minutes when Dean finally had enough of Sam shooting worrisome glances in his direction, only to look away whenever he turned, all the while fiddling with his hands in his lap. He pulled the car into the next rest stop, throwing the car in park with a sharp jerk. "Alright, stop it, right now!"

Green eyes stared back at him with wide-eyed innocence, his head cocking in confusion. "Stop what?"

Dean huffed in irritation. He knew this wasn't the way to begin the conversation, but he couldn't help but feel like he was being ambushed by that innocent looking face that always made him cave—before he ever got a chance to speak his mind. "Stop looking at me like a little kid that's about to get a beating for painting the walls with magic marker!"

"I'm not," Sam started to protest before lowering his head again. "I'm sorry."

Dean rolled his eyes. _Ok, this was worse. Now he looked like a nervous puppy that had just been scolded for going outside of the box. _"And stop with the _'I'm sorry'_. I don't even know what it is that you're apologizing for anymore." _Ok, Maybe, _he thought, just maybe he could get out of this impending chick flick moment with some of his dignity in tact if he drew it out of Sam. _Let _him _do most of the talking. _

"Ok Sam, fine. So what are you sorry for? Trying to kill me or trying to save me, because I can't figure you out."

"I'm not sorry for saving your life Dean. I saw it. You would have died if I hadn't pushed you out of the way."

Dean shrugged carelessly, as if he was talking about nothing more than their usual arguments of what to eat for dinner. "I'm not really sure how that makes much of a difference. It hadn't even been two weeks since you tried to shoot me yourself." He laughed, but the sound was devoid of any actual humor. "I mean, what is it some childish sibling thing like in grade school—_I can pick on my brother, but I'll wipe the floor with you if you try it. I can shoot my brother, but you can't?"_

_"No! It's not like that, I didn't mean it!"_

"Oh, so what, it was an accident? You didn't _mean _to pull the trigger 4 freakin' times? Man, Sam—that's kind of scary. I'd really hate to be on the business end of your gun when you do it on _purpose_."

Sam felt the tears begin to prickle in his eyes and he struggled to find the words to explain it. The frustration was building in his chest and he felt the obligatory pain and difficulty breathing. He knew he was on the verge of hyperventilating if he didn't get it under control. _Dean's sure not going to make this easy. _But then he did. Sam turned in his seat as he felt the gentle strokes on his back soothing him into calmness. Chancing a quick glance at the older man, Sam noted the tight set of Dean's jaw that showed his residual anger. But the wide, expressive eyes showed the concern in those hazel depths. _I can do this, _he suddenly thought. But he never wanted to do this; to have this conversation. _'Damn that Ellicott Bastard!'_

"You can say that again."

Sam whipped his head around to question that, but Dean answered before he spoke. "No, I didn't read your mind Sam. You said that out loud."

"Oh."

"Just answer me this, Sammy. He may have let them out, but they were still your thoughts, right?"

Sam lowered his head and blushed in embarrassment. He couldn't deny it, but maybe he could explain it. "Yes. I've thought them. But only for like—a second. A fleeting thought that he just dug out and hung on to as if I spend a lot of time thinking about it."

Dean turned and stared out of the window, suddenly unable to look at his brother anymore. The anger had faded, leaving only the hurt and betrayal. "I can't believe you thought them at all. I mean, yeah—I know it pisses you off that I follow dad's orders, and I really don't care, so that doesn't bother me. But do you know what does? Suppose I had given you a loaded gun? Sure, I've said I'd love to get my fingers around that long ostrich neck of yours—but I never meant it seriously. I don't get how you could."

"Because I'm not as strong as you, Dean. Do you remember when I was thirteen, you had just turned seventeen, and Dad took us out to hunt that werewolf?"

"Wyoming, yeah."

"You remembered when you got sacked when it doubled back on us and you hit your head on that log?"

Dean laughed, "Not really, especially since I got knocked out. I do remember waking up with a few less brain cells though. And a couple of added gills that I didn't need when I guess it took a swipe at me."

Sam ignored his idea of a joke and pressed on, fearing that if he didn't, he'd never get it out. "Well that was the first time I ever thought it. I didn't even care that that werewolf was human part of the time when I pulled the trigger. But it was the first time I ever thought about you dying, Dean. When I saw you laying there with so much blood—not moving—I thought you _were _dead. All I knew was that I wanted to follow you."

Green eyes locked with hazel, "I had one shell left."

"Sam, don't tell me—"

"…And I would have used it too. So the next couple of times it happened, yes, in a fleeting thought—I thought of denying some evil bastard the chance of ripping you to pieces. Two brothers, two bullets. And I'd never have to worry about burying my brother."

Of all the things Dean thought it could be, _that _certainly hadn't even crossed his mind. He didn't know what to say to that, so he went with his usual method of making light of things. "Wow. Do I need to be afraid to share a motel room with you from now on?"

"No jerk. I said it was only a passing thought. Barring possession, I could never purposely hurt you. Besides, I know how that would destroy Dad. And as much as he pisses me off, I wouldn't do that to him."

"So when you took that bullet for me?"

"All I could see was the doctor telling me that they had done all they could for you. I'm sorry, Dean. But I just couldn't go through that."

Dean felt himself getting angry all over again. "You selfish little prick! And you think it was ok for you to do that to me? Make _me _bury _you_?"

"_Because I thought you could handle it_. You've always been the strong one Dean. You'd get pissed, get over it, and then go shoot something."

Dean was shocked at the thought. He stormed out of the car to calm down, forcing Sam to follow. "What kind of heartless bastard do you take me for, Sam? What, do you seriously think I walk around like a machine never caring about anybody or anything? Is that what you think of me? That's one of the reason's you shot me, isn't? You just wanted to see if I could _feel _anything?"

"NO! Dean, of course not. That's not what I meant. I know you're not like that. You wouldn't have spent so many years of your life taking care of me, if you were. I've never thought that. But you don't need me, Dean. You've proven it already, for years when I went to college. You can do this alone, if you have to—but me? I can't."

Dean shook his head sadly. He finally began to understand Sam's warped way of thinking. "_Neither can I_, Sam. Not since I was four. You think I've stuck around this long, hunting, risking my life, saving your ass—all out of some misguided sense of duty to dad?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted softly. "Sometimes."

"I hunt _because _I care, Sammy. About life, people in general, _family_. That's what keeps me going." Dean stared into his brother's moss green eyes, willing him to understand through the intensity of his gaze alone. "The _ONLY _thing, Sam. You take that away, you take away the reason." He poked him lightly on the shoulder. "And I swear if you repeat any of this to anyone, I will hunt you down, tie you to the hood of the Impala, then crash through a house."

Sam quirked his lips up into a sly smile. "Family, huh?"

"Yeah."

"And I'm your family…"

"Yeah, well, you can't pick your family."

"If you could, would you have picked me?"

Dean scoffed at his brother, his slow spreading grin showing that he was teasing. "You? Never. I would have picked a shorter brother. One that had more of the Winchester charm. And one not so girlie, either—making us have all of these chick flick moments…"

"Please. No one has ever made Dean Winchester do something he didn't want to do."

"Exactly."

"Except for Missouri."

Dean shivered then laughed at the thought of the woman. "Yeah, except for her. You know, of all the monsters and demons we've faced over the years, that chick is still the scariest thing I've ever come across."

"I'll tell her you said that," Sam threatened as they started back for the Impala.

"Liar. You'll probably _think _it just so you don't have to take the blame when she lays me out."

"That's a distinct possibility," Sam agreed.

Dean punched his arm lightly and rolled his eyes. "Traitor. You're just lucky she likes you. Remember her last threat," he did his best impression of the psychic, high pitched voice with his hands on his hips, "_boy, I'll wack you with a spoon!_"

Sam laughed heartily, coughing loudly as he did so. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts too much."

"Serves you right. Maybe that will teach you not to jump in front of bullets."

TBC…


	14. Chapter 14

Actions speak louder

Chapter 14

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

AN: Thank you to everyone for reading. This is the 2nd part of the conversation. Dean finally gets to have his say.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Hours later, Dean found himself driving on in silence while Sam slept peacefully in the passenger seat. _No nightmares yet. Hmmm. That's always a good sign. _

He eased the Impala next to the curb, turning in his seat to shake the young man awake gently.

Moments later, he led them to the front door, knocking on thin air as the door swung open expectantly.

"I know you boys have already eaten dinner, and your room is already made up. Dean, there's a sofa bed in the main guest room that you can stay on, but if you would rather have your own room—you're welcome to use the guest room next to it."

He shook his head instinctively, the subconscious need to be in the same room as his brother to look out for him never even crossing his mind.

"Ok. Sam, why don't you head on up, I know Dean wanted some coffee before going to bed."

The young man nodded, wordlessly sending her a thank you with a genuine smile before making his way up the stairs.

Hearing the footsteps on the ceiling above her, Missouri was sure that Sam was preparing for bed and out of earshot. "You didn't tell him," she said softly.

Dean bristled and spun around, answering in an angry whisper. "No, I didn't. It wasn't important. Besides, I did exactly what you told me to do. I listened, I understood, and I forgave him. What more do you want from me?"

"It's not a matter of what I want, Dean. In fact, want has nothing to do with it at all. This is about _need_."

"Exactly, I gave him what he needs. For him to know that I'm not pissed at him anymore."

"And that's the problem. You never take the time to think about what _you _need, honey."

Her sympathetic tone only seemed to fuel his anger, and he flailed his arms wildly. "I can't, ok! Every single time I do that and get a little selfish—look what happens. I almost loose him. Every single time I've nearly gotten him killed."

"Talking to him, telling him how you feel is not going to kill him, Dean. Sam is stronger than that."

Dean shook his head as he sat down on the couch, leaning his head on his hands wearily. "Then you don't understand him like I thought you did. Do you know how he broods constantly? What good would telling him do? Sam is—I don't know—needy, I guess. Way too sensitive. Telling him would only confuse him. Hell, I barely understand it myself."

"Try me."

"The kid's a handful. He's a big responsibility—you know keeping him safe. Always into trouble."

The psychic offered a quiet, mirthful laugh. "He's not a puppy."

"You'd never know it when he gives you those big sad, eyes."

"He's not your sole responsibility, Dean—he's a grown man. And besides, he does a pretty good job of looking after you too."

Dean gave her a look that said he was hard pressed to agree, but reluctantly nodded his head. "I know that. _You do _know that it's a rare occasion that _I ever _get into trouble." Missouri snorted in disbelief , but refrained from commenting, so he continued. "But anyway, it's _not his job._ It's mine. But sometimes, I wish—"

He hesitated in an uncharacteristic bout of nervousness, staring down at his feet and picking at his fingernails absently.

The older psychic didn't like to read minds when having conversations like this—it tended to frighten off the other person. But this was one of the rare times where she felt that if she didn't, he would never get the words out. She nudged him gently with her knee and conveyed a motherly look of understanding, finishing his unspoken words. "Sometimes you wish it wasn't your job, either, right?"

Dean sighed loudly, too embarrassed by his own thoughts to look her in the eye as he nodded. "I mean, I get why he shot me. But it's kind of unnerving at the same time, knowing that he depends on me so much. Not that I don't like looking out for Sammy, that's all I've ever done—all I've ever known. But sometimes I feel like his trust in me is so misplaced."

_"It's not. _At least, _not to me…"_

Dean looked up startled by the new voice. And from the looks of Sam's rather comfortable sitting position on the stairs, he had been there for a while.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I slept the whole ride here, so I just wanted a warm glass of milk to help me get to sleep."

The older hunter sighed and instinctively began to rise, but the psychic was faster to her feet and looked at him pointedly. "No, I'll get it Dean. You just—stay."

Suspecting that she knew of the younger man's presence, and it was part of her plan all along, he narrowed his eyes and responded as sarcastically as he knew how. "_Woof_."

Dean groaned in annoyance as soon as she left the room, "How much did you hear, Sam?"

Sam leaned forward, the amusement clearly sparkling in his eyes. "Enough to know that you think _I should be the one barking_."

The older hunter hissed and sat up straighter, his jaw tightening in a mixture of worry and anger. "Then you also heard—look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean what I said—"

Sam interrupted, brushing him of easily. "Yes, you did. It's ok, Dean. But why did you think you couldn't tell me? Am I that much of a pain in the ass?"

Dean deadpanned, "Do you really want me to answer that question?"

Sam couldn't help the wide grin that spread across his own features, carefully avoiding full out laughter to minimize the pain in breathing. He wrapped his arms around his waist protectively and leaned forward a bit more. "Ok, let me rephrase that—_OTHER _than in the course of performing my normal, every day-annoying-little-brother duties."

"No, of course not—but it's still—"

Sam asked inquisitively, "what, scary?"

The older hunter shifted uncomfortably, but quickly hid it in his normal teasing manner. "Are you reading minds now too with that freaky shining of yours?"

"_No_," he drawled out with a heavy lilt to his voice. "But I know you Dean. Better than you think."

"Then you should know that I think you shouldn't keep depending on me so much, Sam! It's going to get you killed one of these days, especially since I keep screwing up."

"Whoa, wait a minute—where are getting _that _from?"

"Because it's true. Look what happened. You got shot, because of me!"

"You're thinking this was your fault? Dean, _I pushed you _out of the way. That was _my choice!"_

Dean shook his head emphatically, the calm determination in his brother's voice only serving to make him feel even guiltier. "That's only because I made you depend on me."

"I've got news for you, Dean. _You. _Don't make me do anything I don't want to do. And you can't undo how I feel, or what I think about you. Come on, man—you practically raised me by yourself—you can't go back and change that, and I wouldn't want to. It's only natural that I look up to you because of it. And if that means that I happen to get attached to the only person who's ever really been a parent to me, and who also just so happens to be my big brother—well then big brother is just going to have to live with it!"

"It's just not safe, Sam."

The younger man only laughed sadly. "You mean with you. You're wrong about that. You said it yourself man, maybe not in so many words, but I'm a trouble magnet. We both know that, but I have no idea why. But what I do know is that I am now, and always have been safer with you watching my back. I guess I just never thought about how draining that could be on you. You were barely older than me when you started."

Hazel eyes fixed on his brother's fingers that plucked at the plush carpet absently, all the while staring at the tiny fibers hard enough to have burned a whole in them. He sighed loudly again, running his hands over his face in frustration. _Damn it! _he thought. He knew that behavior—Sam was beginning to withdraw again. His little brother was hurting, and it was all his fault.

Dean mumbled under his breath as he made his way over to the steps, nudging Sam over to sit beside him. "See this is why I didn't want to say anything. Sam, just stop it—right now. Stop thinking so hard. You're not a burden to me, never have been. It's just—dude, I've flunked out of so many things and never really cared…"

The younger hunter whipped his head around, his eyes challenging. "Like what? Name one."

"Like—school. Latin," and then a suggestive but wistful leer, "Mary Beth Kinney..."

Sam nodded and smiled fondly, "Ah, Mary Beth. She must have been the only girl to ever shoot you down in that entire high school."

Dean wrinkled his nose sourly before turning serious again. "I knew that girl had no taste the second she said my geeky little freshman brother was cute. But seriously Sam, this being older stuff--it's just something I _can not _fail at…"

Brushing his bangs aside, Sam stared at the man. The almost shy way that he ducked his head to avoid looking at him, showed a vulnerability that he had rarely ever seen in his older brother. He finally understood what Dean _wasn't _saying. That in his own round-about way, how much he had taken on by simply being a big brother, and how much the idea of failing to protect him terrified the older man.

He vowed then and there that he would find a way to ease some of that responsibility and worry for his big brother, but at the moment, didn't have a clue of where to begin. "With the kind of lives we lead, it's hard—and I wish I knew of a way to make that easier for you, Dean."

"For starters, you could learn to duck a little better."

"Easy for you to say. It's a scientifically proven fact that people with shorter statures have a much faster response time dropping to the ground since they're closer to it." Dean glared daggers at his sibling, obviously ready to fire back a retort.

Sensing that the more serious parts of the conversation were over for now with the teasing making its way in, Missouri laughed and padded her way over to the two and outstretched her hand to Sam.

The woman was surprised as Dean grabbed the glass from her hand and downed half the glass with a smug grin before handing it to his brother.

She threw her hands on her hips before motioning them both upstairs, "Dean, what did I tell you earlier—don't tease your brother."

"He started it. He called me short."

"I did no such thing. I was merely stating a fact."

She laughed again as the playful banter continued long after she heard the footsteps on the ceiling from the guest bedroom.

Sighing loudly, she turned off the light and headed to her own room. '_Oh, John—I hope you know what you're doing…'_

TBC…

There's just the epilog after this.


	15. Chapter 15epilog

Actions speak louder

Chapter 15 (Epilog)

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

AN: Thank you so much to everyone for reading. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I've enjoyed writing it--because it has been so much fun. With this chapter, I conclude my first Supernatural FanFic:) yeah! I hope you'll join me for the sequel.

Special thanks to:

Spuffyshipper, Fleur, CrazyDisaster, jill, anna, lightningboltz, Sabrina, Dawn N, Rachael, m, snchills, sarah, kay, v, Phx, Cyn, and ..., all who I hadn't gotten the opportunity to say a personal thank you—either because of anonymous, or my email just being plain screwy.

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

_An hour later, Missouri laid in her bed, tossing and turning with a restless sleep. The boys in the next room had long since quieted down as their own exhaustion finally hit them. Thinking of them inevitably led to thinking of their father. And with that, the last conversation she had with him in the hospital corridor just after Sam had awoken. It played out in her mind relentlessly, and the psychic new she'd get no sleep tonight._

_"John, what is wrong with you? You need to go in there and talk to your son!"_

_"No, I can't Missy. I can't face him right now. Not after everything. Besides, he's going to be fine. The last thing he needs right now is me going in there upsetting him like I always do. And weren't you the one who told me that he's got more than a little bit of resentment for me?"_

_"You're just _afraid_," she reasoned._

_"You're damned right, I am. I almost lost him. He is too sick for me to go in there risking another fight with him." At her disapproving glare, he lowered his head and tried to rationalize his decision further. "He doesn't need me right now. He's got Dean. They'll take care of each other, just like I taught them, while I get back out there and take care of the dem—I mean, our _other _problem."_

_"I don't understand you, John. The three of you are stronger as a family. You _need _to stick together, now more than ever. The boys are old enough to understand, and to help. Stop being so damned stubborn and tell them"_

_"NO! Absolutely not. At least not yet. They are not ready. So until they are, I can't be with them. No, we stick to the original plan. As soon as Sammy is well enough to walk, get them out of here Missy."_

_"John", she pleaded._

_"I'm doing what I have to do."_

_"That was before. But things are changing now, John. I feel it. It's all getting closer. You've got to tell them before they find out on their own. How do you think they're going to react when they realize that you've been hiding things from them—essentially lying to them for most of their lives?"_

_John threw his hands on his hips, the swagger and smug grin that crept up onto his features clearly showed where Dean got it from. "Probably about the same as when they realize that it was you and good old Pastor Jimmy that told me to ditch them in the first place."_

_"Come back here! Those boys need you!" He kept walking, finally earningthe worst of her anger and she yelledloud enough to wake the dead. "COWARD!" she called after him, ignoring the hospital staff staring as she did so._

Laying in bed stiffly now, the woman said a silent prayer that whatever the man was out there doing, he wouldn't end up hurting his boys more in the process...

_OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO_

Many hours and several states away from leaving his sons in the hospital, John stumbled in from the bar, whiskey in one hand, the well worn picture of his two boys in the other. The hollow sounding voice forced the ex-marine back to alertness. The alcohol clearly not dulling his senses too far, he surprised even the demon that approached when he replaced the bottle with his .45 and had it pinned to the hood of his truck in mere seconds.

The black, soulless eyes blinked at him for moment in surprise before it eased back into a confident smirk. Taunting John with a stranger's face.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't John Winchester. You and those boys dropped off the map for a while there, Johnny. But you know those protection charms can't last."

The demon smiled as he nodded to the picture that John had slipped into his shirt pocket. "That our boys there? How sweet. Though a doting father, you're not."

"Don't you worry about it," the father hissed. "And they're not _our_ boys. They're _my_ boys, when I send you back to hell, you make sure you tell your boss to stay away from them. Else, I've got a few new tricks that he's not gonna' like."

The low-level demon tried to gauge John's expression to see if he was bluffing or not. He couldn't tell, so he pushed the thought to the back of his mind and continued baiting him. He laughed haughtily, not bothered in the slightest by the imprint of the barrel on his temple. "When are you going to get it through your thick skull, Johnny-boy? You can't hide them from him forever."

John returned the amused expression as he answered coldly, "No, not forever. Just long enough…" He didn't even blink as he fired at point blank range, the blood splattering onto his cheek while the body slid to the ground. He watched disinterestedly as the black mist seeped back into a crack on the pavement. Bending down, he whispered a silent prayer for the soul of the man he had just released from a prison in his own body.

He was glad that no one had come running with the sound of the gunshot, and the eldest Winchester climbed into his truck and took a moment to check that the photo was still with him. In his shirt pocket, close to his heart. He pulled it out one more time, smiling at the dual grins of both his sons and he wished he could make them understand.

"I've never been much for words boys, but someday I hope you understand that everything I've done has been for you. Someday, you'll realize that _actions speak louder_."

End…


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